


Waiting beyond the Halls

by Umeko



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Hope, Multi, Romance, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all waiting is done within the Halls of Mandos. A tapestry of relationships sundered, reunions and undying hope. If you have to wait for all time, will you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cold Hearth

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer- The canonic characters are the creation of Tolkien. I just borrow them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerdanel reflects through the Ages as she waits for her family.

The halls are silent and have been for a long while. The forge is cold and her workshop untended. Once there was life and laughter here, and the constant sound of the hammer and anvil in the forge as he worked at his craft. The lady of the house walks the halls at night, peering into each of the six rooms which were her sons’. The twins shared a room, naturally, so close they were. Always no one was there to return her goodnights. Then she sits in on the large empty bed she once shared with him, lost in reverie. By day she attends to the numerous chores about the house, like any good wife and mother, but always she watches the road patiently for their return.

She was content and happy once, so much bliss! Her beloved and their beautiful sons. How she missed them.

She recalled the first time their eyes met, across the fire-pit of her father’s workshop. Like the moths to a flame, they were drawn to each other. Her adar had been against the match from the start. True, Feanaro was a brilliant elf and a prince but they were both too young to consider marriage. Perhaps a betrothal would be more proper? Feanaro was both stubborn and eloquent in his arguments and soon persuaded both their families of the union.

Their little elflings soon followed- Nelyo, Kano, Kormo, Moryo, Curvo and the twins, Pityo and Telvo. Their large brood was a convenient excuse to explain why Feanaro chose to leave the High King’s house and set up his own outside the city. Nerdanel knew it was due to the gulf between the High King and eldest over his second queen which lay at the root of his decision.

The Noldor’s High King Finwe had taken a Vanyarin princess as his second wife after Feanaro’s mother had died bringing him into the world. It was unthinkable, really. They say Miriel had willed her fea to depart, leaving behind both husband and infant son. She had entered the Halls and declined to return to life. Nerdanel could not understand how a mother would leave her little one behind so readily. Feanaro cared little for his stepmother and his half-siblings.

“Careful, my law-daughter, least you be burnt by his flame,” Queen Indis had warned her when she welcomed her into Finwe’s house after the binding ceremony. Yes, their love was like an all-consuming flame. They delighted in their crafts, their children and their love for each other. He understood what sculpture meant to her and allowed her freedom in her art’s pursuit. A late supper was a small price to pay.

 _When did the threads of her life go so awry?_ Was it when Melkor was freed, free to whisper his lies into the ears of the Noldor, turning brother against brother? Or was it even earlier, when her beloved Feanaro created those cursed jewels in his forge.

Nerdanel recalled that night. Feanaro had been engaged in his project for many a month, shut away in his forge for great lengths of time. With an air of triumph, he came into the hall where his family was gathered and placed the three gems upon the table. _How they had burned with light! Far too much light for the small hall._  Their boys were struck speechless and only Nerdanel could find voice to call her husband to cover them with a cloth least they all be blinded.

Perhaps it was too late then. She had pleaded with him to no avail. How readily Nelyo had sworn to that blasphemous Oath. His brothers followed suit, even the Ambarussa, her youngest who had barely reached their maturity.  Kano would forsake the Elf-maid he had courted for so long and newly won. Moryo would leave behind his expectant wife. Perhaps Telvo had wavered. _Had he not looked back at his mother when father and sons rode away?_

She would have followed them to the shores but for her law-daughters. They moved to their abode outside the city of Tirion. She never liked Formenos much, for that was where he had sworn that Oath over the fallen body of his father. Her memories of the place were marred by bloodshed and conflict.

Instead she took refuge in the house where she had raised her children to adulthood. She could not believe her ears when the news of the Kinslaying came to them. Laerwen, who was Telerin on her mother’s side, fainted in a swoon. She left for her people and never returned. Nerdanel dreamt that night of burning ships and awoke with a heavy heart. _Telvo…_ Somehow she just knew.

Arafinwe’s beleaguered troops limped into Tirion with news of the Doom of Mandos upon those who had left. _How she had wept at the thought of her family lost across the sea._ Morwen vanished soon after and Nerdanel thought she had followed the example of Laerwen. She never knew then that her foolish law-daughter had attempted to cross the Ice after Nolofinwe’s forces and perished thus with her unborn child. It was Elenwe, also lost on the ice, who brought the belated news upon her return from the Halls of Mandos. _Poor Elenwe, who now carried about a woollen cloak with her, even in high summer._ Some memories did not leave so easily, even after the Halls.

“Come home to us, my daughter,” her father urged. She declined his offer then and has done so since. _What if they came back to Tirion? How would they find her?_

Her husband’s family tried to be kind to her but it was difficult for them too. Lady Indis grieved for the children and her grandchildren who had crossed into Middle Earth and were thus exiled. Finarfin was sundered from his all children. They could not bear to enter Feanaro’s house.  Her law-sisters Anaire and Findis came to visit on occasion, just to ensure she is well. Earwen could never bring herself to visit after losing so many of her kin, her brothers among them, at Alqualonde. For many centuries, Nerdanel would be alone, a pariah to her fellow elves.

In her loneliness, she dedicated her time to her sculpture. She fashioned from marble the likeness of her husband and sons and set them in her garden. Cold stone was a poor substitute for the warmth of the familial hearth. She did not mourn their loss when she awoke one morning to find the statutes smashed to pieces. She threw her chisel aside and shut up her workshop for good.

She dreamed of Feanaro lying grievously wounded and awoke in tears, knowing he was dead. She dreamed of Curvo, Moryo and Kormo, lying all bloodied amidst a great battle. She awoke in such grief that she would have thrown herself over the cliffs into the sea if Lady Nienna had not intervened. She spent a long while weeping with Nienna. There had been a great Kinslaying in the Hinterlands, instigated by her sons.

The Vala of Mercy brought news from the Halls. Her husband would be held within the Halls until Arda was unmade. In light of his sentence, Feanaro gave leave to his wife, to take another spouse as his father had done.

“Never!” Nerdanel had replied adamantly.

Telvo would have been freed sooner but he requested to remain in the Halls until his twin came, that the Ambarussa may leave the Halls together as they had come from their mother’s womb. Lord Namo had granted his request.

Curvo had requested to follow the example of his father and Grandmother, thus freeing the wife he had taken in Middle Earth from their bond. Moryo had met with his wife in the Halls. Morwen’s fea had been so grievously wounded by his leaving of her and their unborn child so long ago, she had yet to recover. Perhaps she might never heal enough to leave. Moryo had requested to serve out his time in the Halls at her side, and remain until she had recovered, no matter how long it took.

 _What of Kormo?_ She had asked. Nienna shook her head. He had committed grave sins against his kindred driven by his misguided loyalty to the Oath. He had earned himself the name of Celegorm the Cruel with his deeds. Perhaps his fea was the most sorely wounded among the brothers and in need of succour?

No, Kormo could never be cruel. Had she not watched as he so gently and patiently cared for an injured hound? Had he not wept when his mare died while birthing her foal? She knew her son. She spoke of how Kormo once found a robin with a broken wing and nursed it back to health.

Lady Nienna would become a frequent visitor to Nerdanel’s home.

 _“Nana, we’re sorry…”_ Nerdanel dreamt of Pityo with his bloodied hands, weeping before Namo’s throne, Telvo beside him, pleading for him. She knew only two of her brood remained on Arda’s shores.

The cycles of the sun passed. Wars were fought in distant Middle Earth. Kingdoms rose and fell. Finally the Valar lifted the Doom. A bright new star rose in the night sky. It was one of the Simarilli, returned to the Valar, who saw fit to put it into the sky as a symbol of hope to all.

Once more Arafinwe’s army was assembled to sail into battle with Morgoth. The resulting triumph of Morgoth did not matter as greatly to her as the lifting of the exile of the Noldor. For the first time in many years, there was a spring in her step. She hurried down to the quay to await their return alongside many who had kin long-exiled from Valinor’s shores.

It was there that she met Laewen. Laewen had changed. No longer did she dance and sing as she once did. Together they waited. The losses in battle had been heavy. Many had found their way into the Halls of Waiting. _Had Kano and his brother survived?_ Nerdanel had not dreamed of their deaths.

Ship after ship came in. Many a tearful reunion they witnessed, but no Nelyo and Kano. Laewen’s smile grew colder with each passing day. Finally she went to petition the Valar to free her from her bond with Kano.

“We were bound barely a month when he chose to leave me for that Oath. If he felt anything of our bond, he would have come to Aman when the Doom was lifted. Clearly he feels more for those stones than for me. Hence I feel no love for him as of this day! I’d rather be in Mandos’ Halls than bound to one I now hate.”

Of course she had not the fortitude and determination of Miriel to will herself to death. Instead, she grew bitter and cold as ice. They call her Aranel now, for summer’s warmth had gone and all that remained was the ice of winter.  Kano would never recognise her as the smiling maiden he had wooed so earnestly. Her love had long turned to ash. Nerdanel feared that one day her love for her husband would be as ash in the hearth.

Many of the fea from the earlier years had been healed and released, re-embodied to their kinsfolk. A few still languished in the Halls. The once High King Finwe had chosen to remain with his first love Miriel and their son. Indis was consoled by the return of her son Nolofinwe and her grandchildren, Findekano, Arakano and Findarato.

Findekano called on her once.  He had been a close companion of Nelyo. They spoke long into the night. Nerdanel wept when he related how he had been forced to sever Nelyo’s hand to free him from his captivity. He left in disappointment when he learnt his cousin had not taken the ship to Aman.

“I see that accursed Oath still binds him, would that I could free him of it as easily as I had freed him once.”

For a time, Nerdanel waited for the ships. Elves exiled once and elves who had never set foot in Valinor were arriving by the shipload. Each time she was disappointed to see no familiar faces among the newcomers. Finally she returned home to keep her lonely vigil there. That night she dreamt of a river of fire and knew her Nelyo had gone into the Halls. Nerdanel wondered if she had Miriel’s strength to will her own entry into the Halls of Mandos.

Lady Nienna came one day with a re-embodied elf. For a moment, Nerdanel’s heart swelled with joy at the sight. The elf was much like Feanaro, or her son Curvo. Yet as she approached she saw that they had never met before.

Celebrimbor had been born in Middle Earth and perished in the Hinterlands. His fea had healed in the Halls and he was newly re-embodied. However, his mother’s kin had yet to cross the sea and all that remained of Curvo’s kin in Valinor was Nerdanel. _Would she be so kind to put up her grandion until his mother’s kin sailed to Valinor?_

Nerdanel agreed. She would have put him in Curvo’s room but she could not bear the thought of disturbing it. Instead she gave Celebrimbor the room above the forge where Feanaro and his sons sometimes slept when they worked late. Her grandson did not mind it at all. He set about repairing the building which had begun to fall into ruin.

Celebrimbor was like his grandada in his likeness save his eyes. He inherited his skill at the forge. It was not long before a fire was kindled and the sound of the hammer rang out like a bell. Celebrimbor did not dishonour his grandfather. Soon elves were making their way to Feanaro’s forge. Celebrimbor had once studied his craft with Aule’s children in Arda. Many elves from the Hinterlands sang praises of his work.

Be it horseshoes, ploughshares or armour, he set his mind to it with a singular passion. No task was too small or insignificant for him, although he was still a prince by birthright. Try asking Feanaro to shoe your horse and you might find those horseshoes rammed up your ass, Findekano had once remarked.

Unlike Feanaro, who shared his knowledge only with his sons, Celebrimbor was not adverse to collaborating with other smiths and taking on apprentices. Nerdanel smiled to see life and laughter return to her home. Celebrimbor was not Feanaro or her Curvo. The fire in his spirit was milder, carefully banked.

Only once did she witness a passion akin to that of his grandfather. A high-ranking Noldor had come to request a matching set of binding rings for himself and his bride-to-be. Celebrimbor’s face went pale. He threw his hammer across the room, narrowly missing the offending elf’s head and sulked up to his room in a furious silence. No one ever asked Celebrimbor to forge rings again.

Nerdanel found him being violently sick when she brought supper to him. He had never spoken of his time in Middle Earth, save for the amazing craft of the Dwarves he had lived with for a time and learned to admire. That night they spoke, beyond the polite conversation they made over their meals.

Nerdanel spoke of Feanaro and her sons before the exile. Celebrimbor spoke carefully of the uncles he knew and his father in Arda, skirting the Kinslayings and their crimes the best he could. Disgusted by father’s dealings, he had left and went to live with dwarves for time. He spoke of how he had been betrayed by someone he believed a bosom friend and how he had created with his hands the cursed rings. She had dried his tears the way she had done for his father when he was an elfling.

The next morning he was back at the forge, fixing a badly chipped dagger. Celebrimbor will endure. News came of a newly-arrived swan ship, carrying Celebrimbor’s Silvan mother and her kin. They wished to live under the green trees south of Tirion, beside the lake.

Though he did not voice it, she understood. Celebrimbor’s mother would want her son close after being sundered for so long by war, death and the sea. She met her law-daughter for the first time, a smiling elleth with cornflower eyes and raven hair. Merrilwen was her name and she was a healer. How she fussed over her son as Nerdanel watched on. She understood what it was to be a naneth. 

Merrilwen’s smile faltered when Nerdanel asked of Curvo. “We were husband and wife but only in name. I believed then that I could persuade him from his cursed Oath. I was wrong, not even the creation of a child would turn him from it. Do I still love him? I no longer know. Perhaps I never knew him…”

She tried to defend her absent son, speaking of his childhood, but Merrilwen only shook her head sadly. “Perhaps if I had met him sooner, I might have stopped him from taking the Oath…”

Her law-daughter was misguided. She never knew Feanaro. He was such a force that Curvo would bend to his will despite her and take the Oath. She had also never laid eyes upon the Silmarillion, not even when it was worn by the Morningstar in Middle Earth.  

Celebrimbor would have promised to visit often but his grandmother forestalled him. _Never make promises you cannot keep._ She knew his visits would be rare. He will be too caught up in the love of his craft and teaching of it to his students. She missed her grandson when he finally left her home.

Once more the Feanaro’s forge grew cold.

Fewer ships came from the Hinterlands. Wars were still fought against the remnants of Morgoth’s forces there. A long, slow and costly battle it was. Many elves had lost kindred in battle and came to be reunited with their kin once they were freed from Mandos' Halls. Some had been wounded in fear and hroar so that they could only find healing in Este’s Hall. The elf kingdoms of Middle Earth dwindled as more obeyed the call to sail. _Perhaps Kano would come home now…_

Arafinwe’s long sundered daughter returned and was greeted with great joy by her parents. Artanis was no longer a little girl. Artanis’ law-son and grandsons followed shortly. The last of the Silvan elves from the Greenwood came with their king on the same vessel which brought Artanis’ husband. Cirdan finally sailed, the last of the elves to leave Arda. All the remaining elves would have to find their own way across to Valinor or else fade and find the Halls of Mandos. _No Kano still._

The Prince of the Greenwood made quite a stir, arriving in a crudely hewn ship of his own design, with a dwarf among its passengers. The dwarf was a source of much curiosity and amusement for the elflings. The elves on board had arrived in the Havens a week late to catch the last of Cirdan’s ships and were forced to craft their own vessel from whatever plans they found in the abandoned shipyards. It took them a while to get it right. The arrival of that ungainly craft gave Nerdanel hope.

She often dreams of her second son, wandering the edge of the Sundering Sea with his harp, singing his laments. Perhaps one day he will put down that harp and start hewing a vessel from a tree as the Silvan prince’s people had done.

So she watches the road. _Hoping._ Kano will sail for Valinor and his brothers freed from the Halls. Even her beloved would return one day. Till then she will await their return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying to use their Quenya names as far as possible for this chapter, including for Galadriel (who is Artanis to her family) for this chapter as Nerdenal would be more familiar with the Quenya and familiar version of their names having never been to Middle Earth.


	2. White Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elwing knows what it is to wait. She has been doing so for centuries.

They married too young, their elders said. Elwing was barely into her maturity, likewise Earendil. They had known each other since childhood and their friendship deepened into love. It was soon after their binding that Earendil started his seafaring. She knew that he was a mariner and must venture onto Ulmo’s domain. She would take herself to her tower and watch for his ship. Earendil’s journeys could be weeks, even months long. He was always seeking out new lands. Some said he was seeking out his parents’ whereabouts and the shores of Valinor then. 

They have long found Valinor but her love still sails. Earendil is charged by Lord Manwe to sail his vessel through the night sky with the Simaril on his brow as a star of hope to all in Arda. He is her hope. Once long ago she had resented his long absences. He was not there when their sons came into the world. She named them for the starry sky and the sea spray she could see from her window overlooking the sea. Young Elrond and Elros were her comfort in those long lonely weeks. They would make a game of watching for their father’s sails from the window. Now she watches alone. 

She wanted to pass into the Halls that terrible day when the Kinslayers came into Sirion and she believed her precious elflings slain as her little brothers were. Intent on defying them to the end, she snatched the jewel and ran to the cliffs with the Kinslayers in pursuit. As she fell, she heard one of her sons scream.

 _“Nana! Don’t!”_ Alas it was too late. She was falling… falling…

Instead of the Halls of Mandos, she found herself aloft. Ulmo granted her wings, turning her into a bird. She wanted to wheel back to the cliffs, to her abandoned sons, but the will of the Valar was far stronger than the will of a mere Elf-woman like Elwing. She flew away from the shores of Arda and her sons, towards _him_ , her Earendil where he floated on the shadowy sea.  

When she regained awareness, she was wrapped in Earendil’s arms, their vessel drifting into the sheltered waters of Valinor. They stood before the Valar, Manwe, Nienna, Ulmo and the others. She chose the path of an Elf and reunite with her mother’s people, to remain in Aman and greet her sons when they emerge from the Halls. She had never believed mercy possible of the Kinslayers. Earendil chose to be an Elf to be with her. Nevermore would they set foot upon Arda. Their elflings did not enter the Halls of Waiting. Instead, Maedhros and Maglor raised the boys as if they were their own sons for many a year before they were sent to Gil-Galad’s court. 

The Valar granted her the guise of a swan so that she may fly to the sky and join her beloved aboard his vessel. Earendil sometimes watched over their sons in his sailing. She accompanied him at first on his nightly voyage but to see her sons growing on the Hither Shores grew too painful. She saw the sorrow on their young faces when their foster fathers bade them farewell that night they were sent to Gil-galad’s. She watched how Elros tried to run after them and fell into the dust their speeding horses left in their wake. How she had wanted to wipe the tears from his face then and hold him close. 

They mourned Elros’ decision to take the Gift of Man, for they knew he would never come to Valinor. He had been so much like his adventurous father even as an elfling. Elrond chose differently. She had watched from Earendil’s ship Elrond’s grief at his brother’s failing strength as Elros progressed down his chosen path. It was sad night when Elros took his death and passed from the Circles of Arda to where neither his brother or parents could follow. Now she remains in her tower, joining her husband when he sails home at dawn.

Elves from Arda and the Halls brought news when they came into Valinor. Elwing listened eagerly. Elros sired a line of kings, a great kingdom of Man. Alas, the kings of Elros’ line soon fell to the prey to the Dark Lord’s machinations and Kin-strife. Elrond had wedded Galadriel’s daughter and is now a father. Their Elven son was charged with a duty by the Valar, to foster the heirs of his brother’s line, from which a new hope of Man would arise. The Dominion of the Elves on Arda would end, giving way to the Dominion of Man. The last of the Elf-kind will sail forth then for Valinor.

Nightly Elwing waits for her husband and watches his vessel sail across the night sky. As he approaches her tower, she spreads her cloak of white, taking on the form of a swan to go forth and greet him as she has done for centuries. She knows one day her son Elrond will sail for Valinor and bring his own family with him and she will be there to greet them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have explained Elwing's apparent abandonment of her children as a huge misunderstanding on her part thinking they had already been slain. After she threw herself off the cliff, it's all out of her hands.


	3. A Starlit Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegnor mourns what could have been with his mortal love and waits in Valinor for the Second Music at the end of time. On the banks of a starlit lake, he finds he might not be the only one to wait.

_Leaving the Halls of Mandos was a mistake,_ Aegnor admitted ruefully. Better to have remained in their cold silence till Arda was unmade. The starry stars mirrored in the lake reminded him of another night and another lake much like this, in a land he no longer had a part of.

Once he had looked upon the Second-born in disdain. To him they seemed weak in both fear and hroar, mortal and would pass in the span of a few seasons. He had been puzzled by Finrod’s decision to befriend mortals, counting them among his boon companions like he had the sons of Feanor.  _How had he coped when his mortal friends passed, surely they were more to Finrod than a valued steed or loyal hound?_ Somehow Finrod always took the losses in his stride. Finrod’s heart was long pledged to an Elven maid. He had never loved a mortal as deeply as Aegnor.

Theirs was a love never meant to be, so he believed as he languished in the Halls. _Until he saw for himself the Tapestry of Beren and Luthien long after it had become Elven lore._ If Finrod had still been within the Halls then… _was it possible to kill a fea unhoused?_

His elder brother had counselled him against courting her when he heard of their deepening love. Their tradition forbade marriage in times of war. To assuage their longing for each other, Aegnor sought out the heat of battle, Andreth the knowledge within dusty scrolls. When he fell, it was with her name upon his lips and her likeness in his mind’s eye. He wondered if he could have persuaded the Valar to count his beloved among the Elves as his kinswoman Idril had petitioned for her Tuor. They say the couple now lives in New Gondolin, a city set among the eastern sea-cliffs. Alas, it was too late by then. Andreth’s fea had long passed beyond the Circles of the World as Eru decreed in the Gift of Man.

 _Why had he agreed to leave the Halls?_ He did not know. Perhaps it was to be a companion to Angrod in the bewildering time following their rehousing _. If he had not charged that foul dragon, perhaps Angrod would not have perished alongside him?_ Perhaps he had sought out death that day and it found them both. He need not have worried. Angrod was well received by their family and the Sinda wife he had taken in secret, who had sailed for Aman after the Doom was lifted. 

Aegnor had spoken with Finrod soon after his return, in that spacious house he now dwells in with his lady-wife and elflings. Finrod confided in Aegnor that he had seen in Beren and Luthien his star-crossed little brother and his mortal maid and rendered the mortal aid in his quest. Andreth lived out her life unwed, for her heart had been foresworn to Aegnor. She was greatly loved and respected by all as a wisewoman when she finally passed so the elves who had known her swore.

Aegnor soon left his brother’s house and made his way back to the Gardens of Irmo where he had awoken after his rehousing, seeking to re-enter the Halls. The Vala Este met him there and gave counsel. It was forbidden for him to leave the Circles of Arda though Eru’s children will all join in the Making of Second Music when Arda ends. He recalled his parents’ joy at his return. Would he subject them to further grief by returning to Mandos’ Halls?

 _Lord Finrod told my father once, how the Elves came over the ice from a fair land far to the west a long time ago and were exiled from it hence,_ she had smiled as she playfully braided a blue feather into his hair. _Would that I can see for myself how fair your homeland is._

_In my eyes, none of the sights of Valinor are as fair as you…_

The memories of Elves are long. In Aegnor’s, his beloved Andreth stands young and beautiful, untouched by the ravages of age, always smiling. They say Idril waited too long to seek the Valar’s aid, and that Tuor’s knees still ached when the weather turned cold. He did not have to watch Andreth’s dark hair turn grey or the light in her eyes dim the same way Lord Elrond had watched his twin age. Elrond had moved on since, at peace with his brother’s choice and no doubt consoled by his own family.

For many a year, the youngest prince of the House of Arafinwe roamed the wilds of Aman alone, hoping to ease his grief. Finally he came upon this hidden lake in the high mountains of Valinor. It was by a similar lake in Arda that they had pledged their love under a starry sky.

_Forgive me, for not only tradition forbids me my pledge. The future before us is fraught and uncertain. I do not know when we will return… Perhaps it is best…_

_Deny me not this, my Elf knight. I will wait in patience for your return._

He had reined in his steed there and wept, remembering the first and last kiss they had shared. _Patience. How patiently she must have waited for him after his first death for a love gone beyond her reach._ His heart froze when he saw the other figure watching the calm lake from its banks as if waiting.

He dismounted and hastened forth. Startled by his approach, the figure turned. It was an Elf-woman clad in simple grey.

“My sincerest apologies, my lady…” he fumbled over his words. He had gone many a month without encountering anyone, Vala or Elf.

“Your apology is accepted, my lord, though the fault was not yours alone. I was lost in my thoughts of my mortal family, who have passed beyond the Walls.” Her voice was bird-light as were the voices of those of Silvan birth but tinged with a hint of sorrow.  

“You are of the Peredhil, my lady?”

“Nay, my lord. Please call me Mithrellas, for I am not a lady though I have served one once long ago.”

“Please, call me Aegnor.”

The two elves sat by the water’s edge. The words poured out of the prince and the Silvan listened. The prince spoke of his grief over his mortal love.

“You are not alone,” Mithrellas took his hands in hers and he saw her eyes were moist as she told him her tale. Mithrellas had a husband, a mortal prince, to whom she bound by the rites of Man. Perhaps if they had been bound in the Elven way, her children might have been offered the Choice of the Peredhil.

Yes, Aegnor had heard the song sung by Elrond’s bard at the last Yule feast he attended in his father’s hall. The tale originated from the Mannish court of Dol Amroth. It spoke of a lost Elf-maid alone in the wilds and the mortal prince who saved her. How she became his wife and borne his heirs before disappearing one starry night.  

Mithrellas wryly admitted that the songs were true in most aspects, save her disappearance. “I could never have left Imrazor or my children, given a choice. However, the Call of the Sea was too strong. I tarried too long and it overtook me. I left the castle one night to seek out the river to ease the Call. I slipped, fell in and drowned. They never found my body, else my Imrazor wove a gentle tale for the children.”

“Did you ever consider remaining in the Halls of Mandos until the end of time?”

“The Halls do not suit me. I am Silvan after all, and we need the trees and sunlight far more than a Noldo,” Mithrellas shrugged. “Moreover, my parents had sailed and were waiting for me in Valinor.” For a long while they sat in silence, watching the stars reflected in the lake.

“Do you regret meeting your mortal husband?”

“Did you ever regret meeting your Andreth?”

The Noldo prince and Silvan elf stared at each other and laughed. Their hearts felt lighter after their talk. Something struck the prince then as the first hints of dawn touched the eastern sky.

“Mithrellas, how came you to be here in this lonely place?”

“Oh,” the elf-woman blushed crimson and laughed. “I was picking herbs for dinner and lost my way. My parents and sisters will be so worried! Could you tell me how to get back to Calandell?” Laughing with her, the prince offered to escort her home.

* * *

 

Speculation in Tirion was rife when Aegnor left his parents’ home and built himself a keep by the lake above the remote Silvan hamlet of Calandell, hiring a local elleth to keep house.  It amused his brothers and cousins greatly when they spent their summers at his keep overlooking the lake and spy him strolling by the lake with his housekeeper in the evenings or stargazing deep into the night.

The pall of grief which rested so heavily on the prince had lifted. Finrod was glad to see him smile as he showed his nephews how to fish, read the stars or recognize local herbs under his housekeeper’s tutelage. The name Mithrellas was familiar but Lord Finrod could not recall where he had heard of it. The songs of Mannish bards are rarely sung outside Elrond Peredhil’s hall. What he did know was that Mithrellas’ presence eased his baby brother’s grief.

Despite the rumours to the contrary, the Noldo prince and his Silvan housekeeper were only friends. Having sworn their hearts to their mortal loves, they would wait in patience till the Second Music is sung. Somehow, the waiting was less lonely for them both now. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering if Aegnor and Andreth were the first inter-race couple in the First Age after Meilan and Thingol. There might be other Elf-mortal unions which weren't as dramatic or world-changing as Beren-Luthien, Idril-Tuor (First Age) or Aragon-Arwen (Third Age).
> 
> Update- minor correction to align with the theory that Orodreth is son of Angrod, which means he was married already in Middle Earth before his first death.


	4. The Sleeping Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amarie greets her prince. Sometimes the prince needs rescuing by the fair damsel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternative take on Sleeping Beauty.

It was the King’s sister who sought her out in the Grand Library of Tirion, the skilled noblewoman who served the Vala Este. “Come with me,” Findis took her by the hand and led her through the winding streets to where a pair of Elf-horses awaited. Amarie did not protest or resist. Lady Findis held such an air of authority that few elves would question her.

In silence, the two elf-ladies rode out of the city at a steady pace, so as to spare their steeds.   _Where are we going? Why?_ Amarie’s words died in her throat for Findis’ face was both grim and sad. For hours it seemed they rode, until Findis finally stopped before an ivy-decked gate.

“We are at the Gardens of Este and Irmo,” Findis explained. “Perhaps you could call him back.” They meandered through the trees and hedges, ignoring the elves who sought Este’s healing in the small buildings nestled about the lake. Este waited outside a building grander than those Amarie had seen. The elves bowed and greeted the Vala, who blessed them.

“He is within,” Findis led the younger elleth through the arched halls, until they came to a walled garden. The tears came to Amarie’s eyes unbidden when she saw him lying there. She slipped away for a moment and returned with a pitcher of cool water and a platter of fruit, for she guessed the younger elleth was in need of refreshment.

Under the leaves of an ancient apple tree, her fair prince lay on a bed of sweet-smelling grass, clad in a tunic of soft white wool. She sat next to him, not daring quite to touch him. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with each breath. _Was this how it is like for those re-embodied? To awake from a slumber to find themselves in the beauty of Este’s gardens?_

Amarie’s heart twisted. As far as she was aware, none of the re-embodied’s kin had been thus summoned to meet them within the gardens. A Teleri scribe whose son fell in the Kinslaying met him at the gate. The period after re-embodiment was believed to be highly disconcerting for the fea and the reborn were allowed time to readjust within the gardens before returning to their kinsfolk.

“Lady Findis, is something amiss?”

“Aye, my nephew’s fea has been released from the Halls by Lord Namo both in acknowledgement of his meritous deeds in Arda and as a sign of good faith with the High King. However, Lady Este fears he was freed too soon, his fea still marred by his experiences,” Findis’ face was grim. “His fea has been rehoused as seen before us, yet he does not stir from his reverie.”

“What can we do for him? Have not the Valar…” Amarie sobbed and took her beloved’s hand in hers. It was cool to the touch, too cool to be living flesh.

“Lord Irmo has tried, but Findarato cannot be persuaded, so deeply is he ensnared in his dark dreams. It is our hope that your presence beside him might lure him back to the land of the living.”

“If he does not awaken?”

“Then his fea will take the path of the old queen and slip back into Mandos’ Halls until the end of time.” Findis indicated with a curt nod of her head the grassy mound in the corner of the walled garden. Queen Miriel rested there for all time until the world ends.

With tears in her eyes, Amarie called his name softly, chafing his hand. Five times Anar rose and set. She barely touched the food and drink Findis brought, and slept on the grass beside her beloved despite the comforts of room offered to her by Lady Este.  She spoke to him of the long walks they had shared under the trees of Tirion. She sang the songs they so loved. She brushed the burrs and leaves out of the halo of his golden tresses and covered him with her cloak at night to guard him from the dew.

* * *

 

On the sixth rise of Isil, Lord Irmo came to the elleth.

“If Findarato declines to return, he will be sent back to the Halls. The light in his fea is fading and by Anor’s rise…”

“Is there not anything that can be done?” Amarie sobbed. The Vala considered her pleas.

“There is a way, though it is fraught with peril.” He reached under his cloak and brought forth an hourglass. “I can send you forth into his dreams that you may call him. However, if you fail to return before the sand runs out, both you and he will find my brother’s halls.”

“If that should come to pass, please bury us together…”

The brave Elf-maid slumped down next to her prince as the Vala wove his spell. Her hand was clasped over her beloved’s as she sank into a deep slumber.

When Amarie opened her eyes, she was standing on a vast icy plain amidst howling wind and shadows. Out upon the ice was her prince, still clutching his house’s banner. Ignoring the ice shards slicing her soft shoes to pieces and the wind ripping at her hair, she sprinted across the ice. Her cloak was gone, torn away by the wind.

“Arato!” she called out and the wind seemed to die.

Her poor prince looked so forlorn in his battered and bloodied armour. He raised dark, wearied eyes to meet hers as she approached. She dared not touch him yet, he seemed so frail and brittle like glass. The light within him was dimming fast.

“What brings you here, Amarie?”

“I’ve come to bring you home, Arato…”

“Why? I cannot go home, not like this…” The banner in his hands crumbled into blackened ash. “My brothers burned and are still in Mandos’ Halls. My friends tormented and slain. They followed me and I failed them all. Their screams haunt me still.”

“Your father awaits in his palace. Your aunt waits at the garden’s gate. Your mother still dwells in Alqualonde, but she will come once you return…” Amarie struggled to find the correct words. This embittered warrior was not the same Arato she had watched march away so long ago.

_The war banners fluttered under the starry sky. All was quiet in the dark save the sounds of amour and horse. All about them the warriors took their leave of their families. They are not yet bound by the rites of betrothal. There were no words or tokens exchanged. He took her hand in his so tenderly and his blue eyes were soft.  They might have kissed had not the captain call out. It was time to leave. So reluctantly, oh so reluctantly had he let go of her hand then._

“I have been waiting for you, Arato. It has been so long, my fair prince…” Amarie felt the light in her fea blaze, driving back the shadows. “Come with me.” She held out her hand.

“Forgive me, ‘Marie, I cannot. Forget me and find another. I am no longer your fair prince. Hurry back ashore, Amarie. Irmo’s sand is running out.”

“But not without you!” Amarie vowed. The ice beneath gave a mighty crack.

“You must leave, ‘Marie, before it’s too late!” the prince cried out. She sensed the last grain of sand slipping through.

“No, my love. You are still my fair prince, my beloved Arato…” Casting aside her maidenly demeanour, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him full on the lips. She felt his fea flicker as he kissed her back.

The ice gave beneath them. His arms were enfolding her, holding her close as they plunged into a confused void of shattered ice and light…

* * *

_Warm._ Amarie’s eyes fluttered open. This was not the Halls of the Dead. The air was heavy with the sweetness of apple blossoms. The ancient tree had flowered. The boughs above them were awash with white petals, raining upon her like a blessed sun-kissed rain. Dawn had long broken. _Had she succeeded?_

She felt someone squeeze her hand and turned to face her side. Crowned with white petals, Arato beamed at her, his eyes blue and soft, despite the lingering shadows within. He lifted their entwined fingers and kissed her on the back of her hand. _You did it, Amarie. I am home. Never more shall we part._ She heard his voice in her mind and smiled back. _There was no need for words._

 _I love you._ Shyly their lips brushed against each other’s.

Watching from the gate of the walled garden, Lady Este and Lord Irmo smiled. Here the fea of these two elves were bound, more surely than any rites could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Celtic lore, the apple tree is held as a symbol of love, virtue and fertility.


	5. Dreaming in an Empty House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to a house full of memories can be painful. Anaire deals with the loss of her kin in less-than constructive ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who exactly smashed Nerdanel’s marble statues of her family to pieces?

They are so much alike, having their husbands and children under the Doom, Anaire reasoned. They should aid each other. Nerdanel suffered much from the cold looks and cruel whispers, which Anaire had been spared. Of course, Anaire’s family held more power than a mere smith, even in the much-diminished court. Her law-sister dwells as a near-recluse near the city’s smithies. As good charitable noblewomen, she and Lady Findis often visited with victuals. Her best friend Earwen would have done so too, if she had not returned to her people in Alqualonde. The rift between Arafinwe and his wife was not so easily healed.

It made little sense to live in the large house she had shared with Nolofinwe, not when most of their household had gone with him in Exile. She shut it up and moved back to her parents. They were disappointed as was their due. Court gossip long held that the High King would appoint Nolofinwe as his heir over the fiery-natured Curufinwe Feanaro. _Had it not been Nolofinwe who presided over matters of court while his elder brother puttered about his forge?_   Nolofinwe was far better suited to kingship, in Anaire’s opinion. No doubt her parents had nursed hopes of having a queen as daughter.

Alas with Nolofinwe’s exile, the kingship fell upon his younger brother, for none of Curufinwe or Nolofinwe’s bloodline remained in Aman to succeed. It was hard, so very hard. She threw herself into her work as a royal scribe, finally attaining the post of a court loremaster. The High King was kind to her. Arafinwe could not be faulted for not ensuring she and Nerdanel are in comfortable circumstances. Arafinwe was a gentle boy as a child and he made a fair king.

* * *

That night she had brought with her a bolt of linen cloth, for she recalled her law-sister’s garments were starting to wear. Findis gave her a wheel of cheese and freshly-baked bread to bring to their law-sister. It had been a while since she visited, for she did not recall the seven white statues outside Nerdanel’s home.

The grieving elleth had sculpted her family from a happier time, the sons encircling their father as he worked. Feanaro had the hammer raised, his face content as he worked at his anvil. Nearest to him was Curufinwe, the young son who shared his name, watching intently as his father plied his craft. Kano the aspiring bard sat under the tree, harp on his knee. Kormo and Moryo were laughing as if at a joke. Nerdenal had carved her youngest, the twins, from a single block, playing at wrestling. Their eldest brother stood and watched on with a smile.

At the sight of the marble sculptures, a long-stifled rage arose within her breast. She dropped both basket and cloth into the mud and seized a mallet some careless apprentice had left in the street. She strode into the small garden like a fury. With a swing of her arm, she knocked the heads off the twins’ statues, for they were the nearest to the gate. Anaire swung the mallet again until the Ambarussa were but knee-high rubble.

Next she turned her attention to their eldest brother, Maitimo, the best friend of her Findekano. With each swing of her mallet, she cursed the bond of brotherhood which had damned her eldest child. In a red rage, she made short work of the remaining brothers, smashing them to lumps of shattered marble. She hit the harp from Kano’s hands so hard it landed in a neighbouring yard.

When the smaller statues were demolished, she turned her ire on their father. She grimly smashed the marble to small fist-sized pieces and stomped his face into the mud. Panting with exhaustion and arms aching, she finally regained her senses. Surrounded by the aftermath of her fury, she dropped the mallet and fled into the night, ashamed. It was a mercy no one was working late at the smithies and Nerdanel was not stirred by the commotion. _What would all Tirion think if the wife of one of their princes was caught playing the vandal in her law-sister’s yard?_

Shaken, she hastened back into the city. Instead of returning to her father’s house, she took the key she carried with her always like a talisman and turned away from the road leading to her parents’. By Isil’s pale light, she came before a grand house built in the old style with arches and columns. She unlocked the door, struggling with the rust of disuse and entered within. They had moved into this house soon after their first grandchild was born as was proper by Noldor custom.

The air within was musty. A layer of dusty had settled over the sheeted furniture. She ghosted through the hollow corridors, until she came to what was once their Great Hall. The tapestries hung off the walls in rags and the plush cushions had long turned to dust. Still, she found a wooden chair which was still solid and sat in it, staring at the family portrait above the fireplace.

She was so exhausted. Often she would slip back into this empty house to gaze upon their likeness. She feared she would one day forget, although the memories of their kind are long. _How do her children fare in that land across the sea? Do they still live? Or are they in Mandos’ care?_

Her handsome Nolofinwe stands tall and protective, towering over her as she sat smiling in the bosom of her family. Her sons stood proudly alongside their father- Findekano, Arakano and Turukano- all handsome and resplendent in their courtly garb. Her beautiful Irisse sat to her right, an impish smile on her lips. Turukano’s Vanyarin wife, Elenwe, sat to her law-mother’s left with her infant daughter perched on her knee. Little Itarille was just shy of her maturity when she left with her parents over the ice and into exile.

She recalled the day they sat for the portrait. How Irisse had fidgeted with the sash of her dress until it tore. How Arakano had to comb down his unruly mop of hair twice during the sitting. Itarille had wet herself on her mother’s lap and poor Elenwe borrow one of her law-mother’s gowns and pin it up to fit. Nolofinwe had to leave after the second hour to attend court and Turukano was scheduled for warrior-training duties. Then Itarille spilled ink over her Uncle Findekano’s hair…

Anaire smiled that day had been a trial on all their patience. It was a miracle of the Valar they managed to get the portrait done. The painter was richly rewarded, though he never accepted another commission from the family again.

_In these halls little Itarille learned to walk and then play at tag with her fleet-footed aunt. Nolofinwe had played chess with his sons by the fire on many a long evening whilst his wife and law-daughter sewed or read._

She wished she had pleaded for them to stay, but it was not proper. It was her place as a wife to obey her lord. Nerdanel had pleaded both hard and long for her husband and sons to see sense but Feanaro simply ignored her. Like Earwen, she bid her family goodbye with the well-schooled poise, _never to see them again._

* * *

Elven lore say a mother could foresee the fates of her children at birth and perhaps in dreams when they are threatened with harm. Queen Miriel must have foreseen at his birth the destruction wrought by her son, and thus chose to die. She had named him well, for the fire of his madness had consumed so many lives, including Anaire’s.

Whispers in the market speak of Lady Nienna’s visits to Nerdenal’s house to weep with the poor woman. Talk from Alqualonde claim Earwen had dreamed of her children’s deaths. Anaire had not dreamed of her husband or children in a very long while. Perhaps the gift was weaker in her family’s noble bloodline. She had shunned the common custom of bestowing mother-names upon her little ones, for she had no dreams to bestow them by. Besides, she had always thought it inauspicious that Earwen had named her youngest son ‘Fell-Fire’.  

_Perhaps it is a blessing, not to know their fates._

_If she did not know, there is hope._

_Hope they would return someday, forgiven and back in the Valar’s grace._

Perhaps she did not want to admit what she already knew. In the empty house she had dreamed of them and their doom.

It was soon after the March that she had first dreamed, of her youngest falling to black arrows on a blasted wasteland, dying in his father’s arms. The next time she stayed in the house, she dreamt of her husband falling in battle and wept in her sleep. Many cycles of the sun later, she would dream a similar fate of her eldest son.

In the morning by Anar’s light, she would deny the dreams and any truth they may hold. Arise stoically and go about her business. First she went to Nerdanel’s to apologize but could not bring herself to confess to the crime. Instead she helped her weary law-sister pick up the pieces. Anaire offered a commission for some statues for her parent’s garden but the sculptor declined. A bolt of linen and a roll of fine doeskin were sent to Nerdanel, along with an apple pie.

* * *

Anaire still visits the empty house where the dreams sometimes came. There she dreamt of her daughter running through a dark wood, hunted like the deer. _Her poor sad Irisse, who no longer laughed and sang._ She dreamt of a great city consumed in flames, a mighty king fallen. She tasted the bitterness of betrayal on her tongue. Another son fallen, lost under the Doom.

 _Why did she keep the house?_ Perhaps it was that she was more similar to the smith’s daughter than she cared to admit. There was still hope, a chance they would return. _Had not Findarato been released from the Halls and now walks with his father in the palace gardens, a symbol of the Valar’s mercy?_

She returned to the house again and dreamed, curled up on the window seat Itarille so loved to nap on. In her reverie, she sees a bustling river mouth, a ramshackle Elven settlement, hastily built of lumber and river mud. At the edge of the water a mother watches her young child at play. Their clothes were of coarse home-spun.

“Ardamire, come,” the elf-mother called out to her son and the boy came running into her arms. There was something different about the child. His frame was too stocky for an elfling. As Anaire watched, the mother’s eyes met hers. She gasped at her beautiful granddaughter, now a mother herself.

_He is my precious jewel. Although his ada is of the race of Man, I love them no less. We do not know if the Doom will ever be lifted from us, or if we will meet again. What we do know is to love and hope._

Itarille’s voice intoned in her mind.  Anaire awoke to a bright new day. _Hope._ She might share this latest dream with Earwen if she is in town, or she might just keep it close to her heart until Itarille returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got Idril's Quenya name Itarille.


	6. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond remembers his twin who chose a different path and reflects on their shared memories.

It is now a well-established custom of Elrond’s House in Valinor. On the anniversary of Arwen’s Choice, her family would gather in the Hall of Fire with a few close friends and remember their Evenstar and Estel through a night of song and lore. Legolas was a steadfast caller, being a member of the Fellowship, and he sang ballads immortalizing his Mannish friend’s bravery during their quest. The Maia they once called Gandalf sometimes showed up. The dwarf and hobbits visited, until they passed on as their mortality decreed. 

When the songs have been sung and toasts drunk, a pair of candles would be lit in the hall by the twins, one each for the brother and sister they had lost to the mortal fate, a solemn hope in the promise of the Second Music. The brothers had made their choice when they sailed for Valinor to join their parents after King Elessar passed. Arwen was not having them escort her to the abandoned city of Lorien and watch her fade away to death. 

The Lord of the House would usher his guests to their rooms and instruct the servants to clear the hall. His law-parents might wish to sit up with his wife a while in the parlour. Or perhaps Celebrian knew of the other remembrance he held on this night and wished to allow him his solitude. For it was also the anniversary of her husband’s Choice and that of his brother who took the Gift of Men. 

Elrond would shed his lordly guise as he sat at the window of the Star-Gazing Tower, perched like an elfling on the sill. Erestor and the other scribes knew to keep the place empty on this night with a small fire in the hearth for their lord’s comfort.

* * *

It had always been the two of them. Twins are rare among the Eldar. That the bloodline of Beren and Luthien would have two sets in a similar number of generations did not go unremarked upon. Elrond recalled their mother, forever young and beautiful, holding them close with such sadness in her eyes. He would wonder why she was so sad. It was only later that he and Elros would learn of the cruel fate which befell their twin uncles. 

Their mother sequestered herself and her sons in her tower with her jewel, hoping to shield them from the outside world. Later they would be cosseted and indulged by the Kinslayers in their stronghold. The servants of the Feanorions knew better than to bring down their masters’ ire upon their heads by ill-treating the twins. Maedhros and Maglor were so patient with them and so kindly. It was hard for the twins to think ill of them. 

It was at Gil-Galad’s court that Elrond and Elros started to truly feel they were different from the other elves. Initially they were a curiosity thanks to their mixed parentage. Gil-Galad was a king and a busy one with little time to oversee their care and lessons. He entrusted their care to servants and tutors, not all of whom were kindly or considerate. 

Elros caused a stir when he fell ill that first winter. _Real elves do not catch cold,_ their nurse mocked, even as both twins shivered under their too-thin blankets that bitter winter. Elrond awoke in the night to find his brother burning with fever. The healers managed to heal Elros and the nurse was replaced by another. 

 _How they had suffered under their tutors with lessons in Noldorin etiquette!_ They were expected to bow low before Gil-Galad and the other high lords of court and address them by their full titles. Maglor and Maedhros never demanded that of their servants. They were sent to bed without supper once for bringing a small hunting bow into Gil-Galad’s dining hall. They did not know that court protocol forbade all weapons from the high table save the ceremonial arms of the nobles.   

The same haughty nobles denounced Gil-Galad’s charges as wild and uncouth. _Being with the Feanorions ruined them. They aren’t fit for polite company. Nay, it is their Sindarin blood, from their mother’s line. Sindarin elves are no better than Dark Elves… Aye, perhaps it is the blood of Man from their grandfather… Whatever was Turgon thinking allowing his daughter to wed a Man?_  

They clung to each other amidst the hostile whispers and looks from those who rightfully should be their protectors and later peers. The orphaned twins had no one to turn to, save each other. Lady Galadriel came once and took them aside to explain to them their parents’ fate. Elros had fled crying angry tears at the unfairness of it. He had always felt his emotions more keenly. Elrond resolved there and then, to one day sail for Valinor to seek his parents. 

There was that brawl in the training yard, Elrond could not recall how it had started. Perhaps one of the warriors had slandered their Feanorion foster-fathers. All he knew was that he was beside Elros in the fray which resulted in them both being brought bloodied and bruised before their king, kinsman and guardian. 

When they learnt of Maedhros’ end, they had wept and quietly mourned his passing. Elrond wondered if Maglor still lived and if ever, the Kinslayers be forgiven and walk in Valinor. 

* * *

As they grew into maturity, custom required they be trained in both lore and the arts of war as befitted lords of the Noldor. Elros relished nothing better than to join the patrols and venture from the city into the wilderness. Elrond requested to be apprenticed in the House of Healing so that he might be of aid if Elros’ rash actions ended with a visit to the healers, which was not uncommon. The Noldorin lords frowned at his decision. _Surely healing was more suited for servants and women._ The High King simply shrugged and gave his blessings. 

 _“We have had warriors, bards a-plenty and even smiths among our noble lords. Why not a healer?”_  

“Till we meet again, Elrond,” Elros would call out to his brother as the patrols readied to march out. 

“I’ll be waiting,” Elrond would reply with a smile. He had stitched up his brother’s wounds on more occasions than he cared to count. 

* * *

The Choice was offered to them one night. Lady Galadriel had spoken of it many years earlier and the brothers had thought long and hard. Elros’ decision shocked Elrond. It was too late for Elrond to follow his brother as he had already chosen to be of the Eldar. 

 _“First father, mother, Maedhros and Maglor… now you!” Elrond shoved his twin in the chest._

_“I’m sorry, but it must be this way…” Elros pleaded. It was the first time Elrond had flown into such a fearsome temper and it frightened him. “I will leave at dawn. It is proper that I learn the ways of Man by living amongst them…”_

_“Go then!”_

_“Till we meet again, my brother.”_

Thus they had parted ways for the first time in their lives. 

It took many cycles of the sun for the bite of betrayal to dull. When Elros attempted to reach out to his twin, Elrond would turn away. He refused to join Elros, or Tar Minyatur as he was now known, when he led the Edain across the Great Sea to an island gifted to them by the Valar. He did not attend his brother’s wedding or the christening of his children. 

It was only when concerned by the rift between the twins, Galadriel advised Gil-Galad to send Elrond to Numenor as their ambassador. Elros welcomed his brother warmly with a hug. Elrond knew in that moment he had forgiven his twin for his choice. He was glad his brother was content and well-loved by his subjects and his mortal family. He lived in Numenor for a time and mingled with the Elves who sailed in from Tol Eressea. He was invited to stand as foster-father to his eldest nephew, and thus began a tradition of Elros’ bloodline. 

 _“You could sail to Aman…” Elros mused as they watched the Swan-ships one day._

_“I still have my duties as Gil-Galad’s envoy,” Elrond replied. The Blessed Realm was so near but he had no desire to seek out their parents in Valinor._

_“You will sail someday, brother, perhaps long after I am gone, perhaps when you have sons to present them with…” the king of Numenor smiled. “When you do, send them my love and regards.” The rest of the stroll was spent in teasing Elrond over a pretty Elf-maid he was seen speaking with at the quay._

* * *

When the end came for Elros, it was swift. Within a span of two years, his dark hair went white. He took to his bed more often despite his brother’s healing skills. It hurt watching his brother, who had been so robust even in his advanced years, become an invalid.

_“It is time for me to go, Elrond…” Elros murmured as his family watched on. Elrond recalled how his heart had twisted for he knew Elros’ fea would go where he would not be able to follow._

_“Remember what they told us of the Second Music? Till we meet again,” Elros Tar Minyatur whispered to his brother as his fea departed._

_I’ll be waiting and am waiting still._ Elrond had fostered and advised the Numenorian heirs the best he could. He often visited Elros’ royal tomb during his sojourns on the island. Soon the duties of the Noldorin court and earth-shattering events in Middle Earth beckoned. He fought as a warrior, lost friends in battle and founded Rivendell as a safe haven. 

On his return, he found Numenor had turned against the Elves and Elf-friends. They had not foreseen the Shadow’s malignant tendrils had spread deep into the Numenorian court. Elrond retreated back to his safe haven and prepared it to receive those who had remained faithful to the Valar. He could not bear to watch when Iluvatar smote the Numenorians and the city his twin had founded sank below the waves. Elros’ fine marble tomb no doubt made a good home for Ulmo’s creatures. 

During this time Elrond fell in love and wedded Lady Galadriel’s fair daughter, Celebrian. They were so happy together until tragedy forced them apart. She bore him a pair of fine sons, and a daughter who would be as fair as the Morningstar. Elrond reflected that it was a pity Elros never knew his nephews and niece. 

The bloodline of Elros continued among the Dunedian and his heirs founded the twin kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor. The kingdoms stood for time but were overwhelmed by the shadow. Elrond continued his duty by fostering the sons of the Chieftain of the Dunedian, the remnants of the kingdoms. His duty ended when his foster son Estel took the throne of the reunited kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor after Sauron’s defeat. 

Destiny fulfilled, Elrond had sailed for Valinor to be reunited with his wife, who had sailed well before him. He would not stay for the birth of Estel’s heir as he knew he would not be able to leave if he did.

* * *

The legend of Tar Minyatur had grown in tales told by the Edain and Dunedian. Some of which were downright outrageous. Elrond could just picture his twin laughing himself into a coughing fit at the yarn of how the great king had raised a tower in a single night, rode on the backs of Great Eagles and slew a fire-wyrm in combat for his queen’s hand. 

No one in the Dunedian knew Elros like he did, not even Estel and Arwen whom he had regaled with tales of his own childhood and his twin. Mortal memories were short and even the glow of legends will dim with time, replaced by new champions like Estel. When he sailed the Dunedian had composed several flattering, it not entirely truthful, ballads of their new king. 

The memories of the Eldar are longer and do not fade as fast. Yet few of the Eldar truly knew his twin. They were barely into their sixth year when they were sundered from their parents by fate. It was a stranger who greeted him when he arrived in Aman rather than a mother. He never knew his grandparents in Aman save through his mother’s tales as an elfling. 

Maedhros and Maglor knew them better but they are not in Valinor. One languishing in Mandos’ Halls while the other had slipped unseen into the mists of time on Arda.  The succession of instructors and tutors surely could not recall their half-elven students among the other trainees and pupils. It was only much later in his life, long after Elros made his Choice that Elrond formed his fast friendships with his kinspeople, Gil-Galad and Galadriel. 

Gil-Galad did recall that brawl in the training yard. Galadriel remembered the child whose tears she had dried. The ancient Cirdan spoke sometimes of a younger Elros in the Havens of Sirion, and how he would run into the waves laughing on the rare occasion when Elwing brought her children out of their tower for a stroll by the sea. Cirdan could only recall the child, because he did not see the elf and man Elros would become. 

“ _Till we meet again_ , Elros my brother,” the loremaster whispered as he lit his single candle with a smile.


	7. Two Halves of a Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some say twins are two halves of a whole. Perhaps that is why Pityo feels a part of him is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambarussa-centric. This chapter takes place on the other side of the sea from Valinor.

“Telvo, we can’t go back…” 

“But I miss home… I miss Amil…” 

“Shush, don’t think that way. I am here for you. Atar and our brothers too…” 

“It’s not the same. Atto has changed. He scares me…” 

“Nonsense! We swore that Oath… If you’re going to keep sniffling like a girl…” 

“I don’t sniffle!” Telvo shoved his twin away and crept out from under the blanket they were sharing. His eyes were wet with tears. 

“Where’re you going?” Pityo demanded. He knew he had crossed some line. It was rare for Telvo to be angry at him. Maitimo looked up from the sword he had been cleaning with a frown as his little brother stomped past. 

“Telvo!” Pityo called out. 

“Don’t worry, he’d be back…” Tyelkormo murmured sleepily, roused by the commotion. Everyone knew the twins were inseparable. Little did the brothers know it would be the last they would see of Telvo.

* * *

“Lemme go!” Pityo screamed as his eldest brothers held him back. “We have to save him!” Telvo had gone back to the ships, he just knew it. 

“It’s too late,” Kano whispered as he pulled Pityo back. The ships were burning. Smoke billowed into the sky from the blaze so tall it could be seen from Aman. 

Pityo stole a glance at his father. Feanaro watched the flames emotionlessly as they devoured the wooden ships, sails and his son.

 “You killed him! You killed your own son!” Pityo spat at his father, before tearing himself free of Kano and Maitimo’s grasp. Weeping, he ran away from the shore, until his knees gave out. He hugged himself, feeling so hollow within. He cried until Maitimo caught up with him. _I’m sorry, Telvo. Please come back._

* * *

Telvo was gone.  From that terrible day forth, Pityo always felt something was missing, a part of his fea diminished. He mourned his twin’s passing and could barely touch any food for months afterwards. Maitimo and Kano had to bully him into feeding himself. When he refused to walk any further, his elder brothers would take turns carrying him over their shoulders. He had grown horribly thin after Telvo’s death. Feanaro had grown increasingly impatient and they were not risking his temper by having their march slowed. 

Pityo expected to die of grief but it was not so easily done. Not with five elder brothers trying to keep his spirit and body from wasting away. Tyelkormo risked his life and his father’s anger sneaking away from the main camp to hunt wild-fowl, which he then made into a nourishing stew for Pityo. Curunfinwe gave him his favourite brooch off his cloak. Moryo tried to cheer him up by singing bawdy ballads which often had the men laughing at their silliness. The brothers breathed a sigh of relief when Pityo’s frame started to fill out and he began to chat with them by the fire at night. 

The millennia which followed seemed almost like a dream without Telvo. He watched as their father’s funeral pyre burned to ash and turned to hug his twin, only to find empty air. During the time of Maitimo’s captivity he drifted about aimlessly in their camp amidst the endless arguments his brothers had with their uncle and cousins on how to free Maitimo. Kano lacked the forcefulness of his father and elder brother. The talks stalled. It was Finno who eventually ventured forth, alone and in disregard for his father’s orders, and returned with a much diminished Maitimo. 

During the time of the siege, he lived with Kano and Moryo in turn, until Maglor’s Gap fell and they were forced to flee for Maitimo’s stronghold. Pityo might have stayed to die alongside his cousins, but Kano threw him over a horse’s back and urged him to flee with him. Over his shoulder, he watched the flames raze their home and those who had stayed to fight. Kormo and the others fled southwards.  Thus the Sons of Feanor were scattered. 

What ill deeds Kormo and Curvo did, he did not know. Maitimo read in dismay the responses to his proposed Union from Thingol and Orodreth. Without their aid, all was lost. Fingon came, as did Turgon from their hidden realm, but the battle was to cost them all dearly. Pityo had fought alongside Maitimo. When it was over he wondered why he had not been slain. 

The Second Kinslaying found that Pityo had grown increasingly careless. He was not the only one. When the fighting was finished, he was nursing a nasty wound to his shoulder while Kano sang a lament for Kormo, Moryo and Curvo. He missed them. In particular, Curvo and Kormo who taught the twins what they knew of hunting and living in the wilds, back in Aman before the Sun and Moon were crafted. He wondered if they were with Telvo now. 

* * *

He had hunted with his brothers in Beleriand but it was not the same. Maitimo no longer hunted after he lost a hand and could not draw a bow. Curvo and Kormo claimed Pityo was no longer as attentive or fine a hunter as he was in Aman and were reluctant to let him join their forays. _How would they live with themselves if they accidently shot him with an arrow while he was distracted?_ Kormo was not one to suffer folly lightly. He made that clear the day Pityo walked into a bear and was lucky Huan was near at hand to save his skin. It would be Findarato who made up their party, until his death. 

Kano relented on occasion to take his little brother hunting in the woods nearby but Kano was no hunter. Telvo would have chuckled at how clumsy their elder brother could be in the bushes and bemoan the scattered prey. It was not uncommon for them to eat nothing but lembas during these rare outings. 

* * *

The morning of their attack on the Havens of Sirion dawned clear. Maitimo led the charge against the poorly-trained defenders. Kano had scouted the place earlier and confirmed Earendil and most of the menfolk were away at sea. The youths and few remaining warriors fought fiercely. 

Pityo charged ahead in spite of his brother’s warning. He saw a flash of steel and felt a burning pain in his very core. The spearman, a mere elfling, grimly twisted the tip of his weapon in his gut and yanked it out. Pityo crumpled to his knees as Maitimo dispatched the spearman with his sword. He shouted for his men to cover them as he carried his mortally wounded brother to their healer’s tent. 

The wound was too deep and great. The blood could not cease flowing out of him. The pain was all-consuming but somehow Pityo felt at peace as he lay cradled by his eldest brother. His brother was shouting at him but he could not make out the words. He did not care. All he knew was that he was going to join his twin soon, as it should always have been. 

 


	8. Forget-me-nots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-Galad is re-embodied and meets an old acquaintance by Irmo's gate. He learns his ill-fated sister might just keep her beloved waiting forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Children of Hurin centric.

Gil-Galad stretched his limbs and took in a deep breath of the clean air of Valinor as he stood on the threshold. Already the dim halls of Mandos were fading from his mind. The hint of birdsong beyond Lord Irmo’s restful gardens beckoned. He was done with kingship. He might settle for a quiet little house by the sea, with pretty seashells set in the walls. He resolutely shoved aside any lingering doubts and fears. He was safe in Aman, under the Valar’s protection. No further pain or harm could befall him or any other elves re-embodied here in the blessed realm. He stepped out of the gardens.

“Ererinion, have you word from Faelivrin?” An ellon was stepping out from a crude lean-to shelter set in a field of forget-me-nots and cornflowers. It was here that the families of the re-embodied waited to fetch them home on the rare days the Valar blessed Aman with rainy weather or snow.

For a moment, the scion of kings faltered in his step as his mind fought to place the voice. Finally, a hazy image of Nargothrond’s caverns emerged along with a familiar face.

“Gwindor, it is good of you to come,” Gil-Galad managed a weak smile for the ellon steadying him. He had requested his parents not to be informed of his return although they had long been in Valinor. He felt he was not up to dealing with their fussing yet. After an Age apart, he was expecting some serious fussing from them.

“Lord Orodreth and his lady have established their household next to Prince Angrod’s on the foothills beyond the city walls… They await your return as we speak. My father still serves yours as master-at-arms… Ererinion, please… has there been any news from your sister?” Gwindor was treading carefully. Perhaps it was taboo to ask the re-embodied of their time in the Halls.

“Nay, I did not encounter Finduilas in the Halls. They are large and a fea may spend an Age within without encountering a familiar face. I believed she had already been re-embodied.” In truth, the memories of his time in Namo’s care were hazy. Perhaps he had spent his time in restful repose, having lived as blameless a life as he could before his demise. He did encounter elven comrades who had perished in battle, most of whom were to be re-embodied shortly. He had espied a few of his warriors from the Last Alliance regaining their strength in the gardens as he left.

“My lord, she has not returned to us.”

Gwindor’s disappointment was clearly etched on his face. The hideous physical scars from his enslavement in Angband were gone and his hand had been restored to him. Yet Gil-Galad felt his almost law-brother’s wounds were not fully healed. There were lines of care about his face. _The hurts of the fea always go deeper,_ wise Cirdan had explained to him as a young elf when his mother started to fade after his father’s demise and the news of his sister’s cruel fate reached them.

She should have joined them in their flight to Cirdan’s, but she had insisted on staying with her betrothed. When Gwindor was captured, she swore to await his return in Nargothrond. Finduilas always had a wilful streak. Gil-Galad had never been close to his sister, though he had found a friend in Gwindor.

“They say in Tirion that she has chosen to take the path of Miriel Serinde and remain within till Arda is unmade. Please, is there any truth to this foul whisper?” Gwindor picked at his own sleeve in agitation.

“I cannot say…” Gil-Galad replied as he pulled on a pair of padded leather pants and riding boots his father had sent with Gwindor. He had not ridden a horse since his first death and it would be a long ride to his parent’s house. Gwindor had brought a pair of horses and Gil-Galad cautiously swung himself into the saddle and took the reins in his hands, relishing the familiar feel of being on a steed.

“I feel I failed her… I’m sorry…”

“It is my family who should apologize for failing to honour your betrothal.” At his council’s advice, Orodreth had all but insisted his daughter break off the engagement when Gwindor returned after his enslavement.

“My lord, never say that. My time in Angband changed me greatly. It was not the same ellon who returned to her at Nargothrond…  She deserved better than a cripple, a broken husk of an elf…”

“You think she turned from you because of that?” Gil-Galad muttered. The sun was blazing down on his bare head and he was starting to feel his head throb. He had become too used to the cold of the Halls.

“You were there then. You saw how she reacted…”

“What I saw was you pushing aside all her attempts at comforting you…”

“I needed not her pity.”

“Have you thought it was not pity but love? Perhaps if you had been more understanding, she would not have turned to Turin.”

“Perhaps those rumours are true. She will remain in the Halls rather than walk in the Blessed Realm without her beloved. I should have stayed within…” 

“Oh, cease this foolishness!”

The argument was starting to dredge up memories which he had no desire to relive. That ugly confrontation in his father’s hall, his mother’s weeping. The outrage of the high lords thickened the air in the chamber. Turin stood stiff and awkward at his exposure by an embittered Gwindor, who had good reason after he found his wife-to-be with her arms about the Mannish warrior in the healer’s storeroom. Orodreth had chosen to offer Turin sanctuary in light of his father’s aid at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears at the urging of his council.

Gil-Galad’s mother had taken him back to the Havens of Falas the next day, protesting his father’s decision to heap honours upon the Man she felt had besmirched her daughter’s honour. His mother would never believe her daughter capable of dishonouring her good name by turning to another while betrothed.

“He abandoned her in the end, didn’t he? I heard from the former captives who were taken in the Fall of Nagothrond- how he stood idly by like some want-wit fool and allowed the orcs to drag her away…” Gwindor was babbling now in a mix of bitterness and grief. “I should have been there to…”

Gil-Galad reached over to cuff Gwindor on the back of his head.

“Such bitterness is not seemly in the Undying Lands,” the former high king chided. “We cannot change what has passed an Age ago over the sea.”

“You speak wisely, Ererinion,” Gwindor said shamefacedly.

The elf continued to chatter about other matters in Valinor to bring the former king up-to-date. Finrod Felagund had married his beloved Amarie and the couple are expecting yet another elfling. Queen Earwen has finally deigned to return to her husband in Tirion after a prolonged estrangement to help care for the granddaughter Galadriel sent across the sea. Aegnor has established a household far from the city and taken up with a Silvan ellith.

Of Fingolfin’s House, Idril caused a mighty stir when she brought her Mannish husband to her grandparents’. Anaire did not approve, they say. Hence the couple now dwelled away from Tirion with Turgon in a new city by the shore.

On his release, Fingolfin was appointed advisor to his younger brother. His sons Fingon and Argon were appointed captains in the guard. Irisse’s return was much remarked on for she had changed so much that not even the Halls could fully restore her to the blithe, free-spirited princess the older citizens recalled. She spent her days cloistered within her parents’ house and would only venture out on rare occasion in the company of her brothers.

They had reached his parents’ manor house. As soon as he was out of the saddle, Gil-Galad was engulfed his mother’s embrace as his father watched on. Orodreth had changed little. His step was still hesitant and he deferred to his wife now that there was no grand noble council to advise him. Gil-Galad turned to Gwindor, only to see him hand over the horses to a stable boy before heading back up the road by which they had come.

“Gwindor! Where are you going?”

“Even when I was within I caught no sight of her. When Lord Namo offered me my release, I took it, hoping to meet her here in Aman, alas… I will be at the threshold of Irmo’s garden, awaiting her return. Ererinion, I need to hear it from her… ” 

With those parting words, Finduilas’ betrothed strode off back towards the gardens, having paused only to take some lembas from a maidservant. Gil-Galad watched in sadness as he went on his way.

* * *

 

The house was well-kept and bright, unlike Nargothrond’s caverns. His mother showed him about his new home with pride. Gil-Galad’s room had open windows overlooking the bay and a shelf stocked with the tomes he had enjoyed reading in his youth. A similar room has been prepared for his sister, the fragrant linens crisp and clean. A cut-crystal vase upon the mantel was filled with the blue forget-me-nots and cornflowers his sister had so enjoyed decorating her rooms with… He stepped into the room as if expecting to hear her singing.

“She is not coming back to us,” Orodreth placed a hand upon his son’s shoulder and said sadly. “Lord Manwe has informed us of her decision, though he could not give us her reason. Even when we were within, she has kept away from us. The Halls are vast and there are many places a fea might hide. It has been many cycles of the sun since, but your naneth has yet to accept… She keeps this room ready, in case…”

“She is not the only one…” Gil-Galad brushed a fingertip against a tiny blue flower and watched the desiccated petal crumble to dust. A veteran warrior from the fallen city of Nargothrond will be waiting in that shelter outside Irmo’s gate for a love he has remained true to and an answer he will never receive.


	9. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Findis reflects on the return of her younger siblings, nephews and nieces.

One cannot choose family. If she could, Findis would have chosen not to be born into the royal family with all the politicking and expectations. Throughout her adolescence, her life was a minefield of courtly etiquette and would-be suitors calling on her parents for her hand in marriage. She never gave any of the hopefuls any false hopes. She always had been a scholar. An apprenticeship to a loremaster was respectable enough, until she found her calling in the Halls of Healing.

She had sojourned in the court of the Vanyar with her mother’s kin for several years of the Trees, a prelude to a betrothal which did not work out. The lord her grandfather had chosen for her loved another maid. However, she was richly rewarded for her time in the knowledge of healing herbs she gained and brought back to Tirion. When it became clear the eldest princess was not of the marrying bent, she decided to buck tradition by dedicating herself to the Valar’s service.

She had stayed away from the city during conflict between her brothers and tumult which ensued. It only hit her that the family was falling apart when news reached her at her studies of her father’s death. She hurried back to Tirion’s palace only to find her brothers readying to pursue Melkor over the Sundering Sea. Like her mother, she had prayed and beseeched them to stay to no avail. Even her younger sister, Irime, would follow her lord across the sea, taking with them their young son. Only Arafinwe and a handful of warriors would turn back.

There was a tree in the palace’s inner courtyard, where she and her family had spent many happy hours under in bygone days - an evergreen lairelosse with spreading branches. It was her mother’s chief comfort in a city of stone when she first wedded. A bygone custom of the Vanyar spoke of how they would fasten a length of coloured ribbon to their family’s tree before embarking on a long journey, to be taken down on their return.

When Isil first rose, Findis cut herself several coloured streamers from sturdy cloth and tied them to branches of the tree in their private sanctum. Eight streamers of bright gold for Feanaro and his sons who had sailed over a sea of blood. How they must have blazed in the sunlight when the sun first rose in Valinor. Seven streamers of regal blue for Nolofinwe’s House, three of which were shot with silver for her niece, law-niece and grandniece. Four streamers of purest white for Arafinwe’s children who had followed their uncle across the grinding ice. They had glowed in Isil’s light. As an afterthought, she added two red tassels for her younger sister and youngest nephew.

The deed done, she shut the garden off and waited, for none had any heart to walk in that empty courtyard with the ghosts of their memories. Life moved on and the remaining princess of Tirion on Tuna returned to her studies.

The courtyard was opened again when Findarato was returned to them, so careworn despite his time in Mandos’ Halls. Together with Findarato and Arafinwe, she had taken down the first of the streamers and noted how ragged and worn they all looked. She left Findarato to his father and his betrothed’s care. He did regain his smile and strength but there was always a lingering hesitance and wariness about him. He shunned all court functions in favour of a quiet life with his new wife and composing songs upon his harp.

From Findarato, they learned of the happenings in the Hither Lands, how their family had grown with her nieces and nephews taking their spouses among the Sindar or among the Noldor exiles. Both her brothers had passed into the Halls of Waiting, along with a few of her nephews and a niece while Findarato was in Beleriand. Arafinwe asked if she would remove the streamers for Feanaro and Nolofinwe but she shook her head. Let them take down the streamers when they return to Valinor from the Halls.

The next to return was Irime’s little son, Glorfindel had grown tall and strong, a veritable warrior lord. In those early days his legend was not widely known. There was an air of restlessness in his eyes as she invited him to take down his red tassel. _I will keep this, aunt. I might need it later._ He had pocketed the scrap of fabric with a smile.

Later in the Second Age, despite his mother’s pleas, Glorfindel would leave a fresh red scarf embroidered with the crest of the House of the Golden Flower tied from the tree before sailing east with Lord Manwe’s blessings to fulfil an Oath. He had sworn to protect the Mariner’s son in the Hither Lands.

Itarille’s return was whispered of by the Teleri. She had come ashore with a Mannish husband at Tol Eressea. Lord Ulmo had taken them under his protection in spite of the Ban. It would be years before she and her husband would take down her now faded streamer from the tree in Tirion. It would be her half-elven son who would win the forgiveness of the Valar for the Exiles and their aid in the War.

Arafinwe tied a sash of silver from the tree, swearing to return soon before leading his war host to sail from Alqualonde. Glorfindel stayed behind assist to a reluctant regent prince Findarato in their king’s absence. Findis wondered if Glorfindel would have sailed sooner if not for the High King’s command. It was to her great joy that Arafinwe returned unscathed after that terrible war, weary but smiling, for he had with him their sister Irime. Findis watched with joyful tears as Irime’s faded tassel and the High King’s silver sash were taken down. Galadriel, as Artanis was now known, had deferred her sailing in favour of remaining with her husband.

It was a time of great rejoicing when the Exiles who perished in the Hither Lands were steadily released from Lord Namo’s care. Nolofinwe and his sons were released, as was his law-daughter who perished on the ice. In a solemn ceremony under Findis’ watchful eyes, the members of the House of Nolofinwe gathered and removed their streamers one by one until only Irisse’s remained. She had been hurt more deeply than any of her brothers during her time across the sea and was not ready to leave the Halls yet. It would be many cycles of the sun before a wan Irisse and her mother came to the inner courtyard to remove the last of the blue streamers.

A similar scene was played out for Arafinwe’s family. The princes of his house gathered to take down their streamers from the tree, leaving only their sister’s behind. Galadriel would arrive almost two Ages later, tall and proud, almost a queen, to take down the last white streamer. She remarked that the Green elves and Sindar had a similar custom in the Hither Lands, where they built their homes in the trees.

Glorfindel was to return soon after, his Oath fulfilled. The red scarf with its golden flower was taken down. It would seem that the descendants of Finwe’s House have all returned to the Blessed Realm.

Findis went about her tasks, serving Este. There were many elves in sore need of healing from their experiences in the Hither Lands. Not even her family was spared. Anaire would often consult her on how to soothe the nightmares and fears which still plagued Irisse. Her poor niece dreaded the day her husband would be freed although Lord Namo had assured her it would be a long time before Eol would leave his Halls if ever. It was impossible for her to heal in the same place as her husband. Hence she was freed well before she had healed. Naro had given his heart to a mortal maid and must wait for her until the Second Music. Poor Elenwe still feared the cold, like many of those who had died on the ice. Findis and the healers were kept busy, dispensing calming draughts to ease their nerves, groundless fears and the spectre of despair which threatened to return them to Lord Namo’s care.

* * *

 

It was on one bright morning that she entered the palace garden alone for a breather, after having spent the night sitting with Anaire at Irisse’s bedside after one of her episodes. The now-ancient tree was in bloom. She sat down under it and closed her eyes, thinking back to happier days of her childhood. She savoured the warmth of the rising sun and thought back to the distant Days of the Trees. She and her siblings would sit under the same tree, playing games. Nolo would piggyback little Arafinwe. Irime would make garlands from the tree’s flowers and deck her siblings with them. Findis would sing a new song she had learnt from the bards for her sister and brothers.  

_Everyone is home, as it should be._

_Not everyone,_ a small voice chided. Findis recalled a silent youth with dark hair and a petulant scowl. Feanaro never joined them. He would watch from the gate but if any of them were to call out to him, her half-brother would simply walk away. Slowly, Findis opened her eyes and gazed upwards.

 _Eight bright streamers, a father and his seven sons._ Eight scraps of cloth, long faded of all colour and brightness. _Was there any peace to be had for them, even in the depths of Mandos’ Halls? Will the sons of the House of Feanaro ever step in Valinor once more? How much healing would they need, if they can be healed?_ Findis has not the answer.

All they could do was wait.


	10. The Quality of Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nienna reflects as she watches over the Children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand Nienna is known the Lady of pity and mourning. I have taken this interpretation a little further by including mercy in the definition.

_The quality of mercy is not strain'd,_  
_It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven_  
_Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless’d;_  
_It blesseth him that gives and him that takes._

_\- Portia,The Merchant of Venice, Act IV_

She had watched from her windows the countless sufferings of the Children- the Firstborn, the Adopted and the Second-born. She had pleaded on Melkor’s behalf before their siblings. Alas, she was mistaken, beguiled by his false promises to turn over a new leaf. Thus not only was Arda marred, but Valinor darkened. Nine tenths of the Noldor forsook the Valar then, driven by the words of their king. The waters of Alqualonde ran red with blood and many more perished on the Grinding Ice. She had wept then over the dying Trees, bringing forth the last flower and fruit.

An Age would pass before the Doom was lifted and the surviving Noldor allowed to return to Valinor. Millennia in which the Halls of Mandos were filled with tormented fea of the Firstborn who had been slain in the numerous battles on Arda. She had visited the Halls to offer them counsel. She had seen their pain and suffering. For some, their fea could never be fully healed, even in Namo’s care.

She has seen the grief of those who stayed. King Arafinwe’s stoicism in the face of his estrangement from his wife and children lost over the sea. She has seen Nerdenal’s patient faith that her sons and husband would one day return to her. Anaire’s quiet mourning for the family she had lost. Young Amarie’s tireless devotion and love for her prince… 

Perhaps it was a mistake, her fault for allowing Melkor, no, Moringotto to be freed to taint the sacred precincts of Aman with his poison. Feanaro was a sensible elf, until Melkor whispered his lies into his ears and turned him against his kin. It was Melkor who had slain Finwe and stolen Feanaro’s prized Silmarili. Maddened by his grief, Feanaro had sworn that terrible Oath.

She had asked her brother if the Feanorions in his care would ever be freed. Nerdenal’s youngest had repented sorely of their deeds. She had counselled those elves. Namo would only shake his head. Curufinwe and Carnistir had stated their desire to remain in the Halls, possibly until Arda is unmade. Tyelkormo and Maitimo were both guilt-ridden by what they have become in their blind allegiance to their Oath. Both were quite unable to face the world outside the Halls. As for Feanaro, the madness of his Oath ate at him still. _Surely she would not risk unleashing him upon Aman in his state?_

There were other matters to consider. The Kinslaying at Alqualonde had not been fully forgiven although a peace accord was reached between Arafinwe and his law-father King Olwe of the Teleri. The Teleri had been most reluctant to participate in the War of Wrath, only offering their ships to ferry the war host after King Ingwe stepped in alongside Arafinwe to beg their aid. Feanaro’s release might reopen old wounds.

The pain and suffering inflicted at Doriath and the Havens of Sirion were still fresh for many. Those who had been slain and those forced into flight. The Sons of Feanor were sorely cursed in Arda and by many of the refugees who had sailed for Valinor. The Sindar shunned contact with Noldor as far as possible despite the union of one of their princes with Arafinwe’s daughter. The couple had their hands full smoothing relations between their people.

Nienna pleaded each and every case before Lord Manwe and her brother. Finrod Felagund, Arafinwe’s eldest son, was released from the Halls into the care of his beloved and his father. The rift between his parents started to mend with his return although their bond was never as strong as it was before the Doom. She could not secure the release of his brothers until after the War of Wrath. Glofindel was another hard-won success. Lord Manwe had been most impressed by the elf’s bravery and sense of duty that he was allowed to return to Middle Earth to protect the Mariner’s son.

_“Please show them mercy, Lord Manwe… for the sake of those who love them.”_

_“Whom do you speak of, sister, as you plead for those many curse as Kinslayers?”_

_“Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan. Wife of Feanaro and mother to his sons… Findekano, who misses his boon companion Russandol… The Mariner’s son who loved Nelyafinwe and Kanafinwe as his fathers…”_

_“It is not yet their time.”_

The Vala of Mercy walks between the Halls of Waiting and the living world beyond. She knows patience and grief, having seen the sufferings of the world. She bows to Illuvatar’s design. Perhaps in another century she would ask her brother again. Till then, she would offer a listening ear to those who wait outside the halls for the return of their kin and grant them solace wherever possible.

She beseeched her brother Irmo to grant them pleasant dreams that the Children might take heart as they wait. Anaire was much comforted by her dream vision of her granddaughter and young Earendil, before he learned his craft under Cirdan. Vaire had foreseen the unusual fate of the child born of both Man and Elf.

Sadly for Nerdenal, there was little comfort even in her dreams. Nienna brought Celebrimbor to her soon after he was re-embodied and placed him in her care. For a time there was life and laughter in the little house by the smithy. Only when Celebrimbor’s Silvan mother and her kin arrived in Aman did he leave his grandmother’s house. Celebrimbor’s feelings towards his father and uncles were never warm despite his forgiving them in the Halls. He was polite enough to Nerdenal but it was hard for him to picture the father and uncles he knew as the kind, loving sons Nerdenal spoke of.

The Third Age was drawing to a close. Soon the last of the Elves would sail or remain in Arda and fade away into lore. Kanofinwe Makalaure seemed to have chosen to remain lost in Arda, hidden even from her sight. In the gathering dusk, Nerdanel waits still in her house by the smithies for her family’s return.

In the palace garden of Tirion, Feanaro’s half-siblings marvel at the beauty of the stars and above all, the light of Simaril borne by their kinsman Earendil on his nightly voyage.  By its brilliant light, they ponder their elder brother’s skill and how much their people had lost with his madness. No other smith has come close to Feanaro in skill, not even his grandson, who now holds the title of guildmaster and head smith in the city.

In his workshop, Celebrimbor puts down a dagger he had been inspecting for flaws. He is suddenly struck by a memory of a firm but gentle voice and warm callused hands guiding his small ones as he crafted his first knife. He blinks away tears and reminds himself not to weep before his apprentices.

Lady Nienna watches as a solitary Findekano adds a dried twig to his campfire in Aman’s wilds. He yearns for the easy companionship of the cousin he had both admired and loved. They had spent so many happy days exploring the wilds well before there was the sun and moon to mark time. She listens as Lord Elrond strums his harp after a long day’s work in his hall, singing a song he had learned at his foster-father’s knee as an elfling in another hall long since crumbled and swallowed by the sea.

The Vala knows what it is to be patient. For now she weeps her tears for the sundered Children, pleading their case before the other Valar, patiently awaiting that merciful day of reunion.


	11. Snowy Sails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A re-embodied Amroth waits for his beloved Nimrodel in Valinor, but does he wait in vain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tragedy of Amroth and Nimrodel- Amroth drowned trying to return to her and when she finally found her way to the Havens no Elven ship was to be found for her passage. This is my take on what happened to Nimrodel.

“Where's our Amroth?” Lord Amdir queried. His wife smiled sadly and indicated with a nod the path leading to the cliffs. _I see,_ the ellon shrugged and returned to his scrolls.

Even in the Halls, they could do nought for their ion’s sorrow. Amroth had sought out the tapestries but found little trace of his beloved’s whereabouts amidst the battles and chaos of Middle Earth. He begged to be allowed to return to Arda to seek her but that was strictly forbidden by Lord Namo. Amdir and his wife had delayed their own departure from the Halls, so that they might leave as a family. It was an elleth from the lady’s household who gave Amroth the much-needed hope.

 _“My lady would have sailed after him, I know I would have done so.”_  Alas, they had been separated whilst crossing the White Mountains and the Silvan knew not of her mistress’ fate.

Amroth agreed to leave the Halls with his parents then, to await Nimrodel’s arrival in Valinor. They had found a home in New Doriath where the Sindar re-embodied or sailed from Arda dwelled under Elu Thingol’s able leadership.

 _Perhaps she had already landed on the Blessed Shores?_ Amroth sought out any news of his beloved from the elves of Tol Eressea, Alqualonde, New Sirion and the various ports where the newcomers from Middle Earth made landfall. He ventured deep into the forests and hidden glens of Aman favoured by their Silvan kin for their tiny hamlets. Each time he returned disappointed.

 _Perhaps she was unable to sail just yet…_ He lingered in Tol Eressea for almost an age, then Alqualonde. Ships came in a steady stream from the east, bearing Sindar, Silvan and the few remaining Noldor elves to Valinor. Finally the day came when the last ship berthed at Alqualonde. Lord Cirdan had crossed the sea. Any remaining Eldar in Middle Earth are henceforth doomed to fade into myth and legend, for the Fourth Age had dawned and with it the Dominion of Man.

Yet his son still hoped she would come. It was the only thing to keep him going. Amdir moved his small household away from the town to accommodate his ion’s desire to be near the sea. Each day Amroth would sit on the cliffs and stare into the distant east where the mist veiled the lost shores of a land their kind no longer had a part of. The cycles of the sun flew by like a weaver’s shuttle.

Word of his son’s vigil soon ran the length and breadth of Aman. Amroth was a fair ellon and many were the giggling young elleth who would make the trek up to his favourite spot to try for his heart. All went away disappointed. They were firmly but gently rebuffed by their son.

* * *

 

 _“I know she is coming. She will and I will wait for her.”_ The fevered light in Amroth’s eyes as he spoke made his poor adar worry greatly. He feared his son would fade, even in the Undying Realm.

Lord Celeborn came by once to visit with his law-son and grandsons. Celeborn was a friend of Amdir’s from Doriath since well before Anar lit the sky. Hearing of Amroth’s malady, Lord Elrond concocted a tincture to soothe a weary hroa and lighten a burdened fea. _He needs companionship,_ Lord Elrond urged. He offered Amroth a restful sojourn in his hall in the mountains. Amroth declined.

Instead, Elrond’s sons offered to stay a sennight or so with Amdir and try turning Amroth’s mind away from his sundered love. Legolas, the youngest woodland prince, soon joined them. For a month the trio dragged a reluctant Amroth about the wilds, riding and hunting. Amdir instructed his son that it was his duty as a prince of their line to entertain a visiting royal. Amroth carried out his duties as host with all due courtesy. He would laugh at their jokes and sing with them but the distant sadness never quite left his eyes.

Too soon the prince and his companions had to leave them. Once more Amroth returned to his lonely vigil. Legolas would visit, as would the twins. Mithrellas, the elleth who had given him hope in the Halls came with her master, Prince Aegnor. They shared a common bond, that pair, having lost the ones they loved to the mortal fate.

“You still have that hope of seeing her once more,” Aegnor remarked. “Perhaps sooner than I’ll meet my Andreth.”

“I do not understand why she chose not to sail…” Amroth’s voice cracked.

“It is hard for a Silvan elf to leave behind the trees they were born under… Some of us believe the fea of those who never saw the Light of the Trees remain bound to the forests where they were born. More of us fear the unknown sea and what lies beyond the mist…” Mithrellas tried to explain as she poured out some cordial from their picnic for the ellyn.

“Could she have remained in Arda?”

“She would have sailed if she could. Did you not speak to her of Aman as a place of peace and bliss? Did she not agree to leave her forest home?” Mithrellas retorted. Despite her lowly status, she had once been wed to a Mannish prince and knew how to carry herself even before two Elven princes.

“What if she thought I had abandoned her …” Amroth buried his face in his hands and wept as the long-smothered fears came to the forefront.

“She would not. I was wed to a Mannish prince of Dol Amroth – a realm named in your memory and the sacrifice you made for your love. The song has been sung in many halls and around many fires,” Mithrellas replied.

“Yet there some who have chosen to remain behind and fade…” Amroth muttered darkly. “Daeron and Maglor of the First Age… and perhaps nameless more of the Nandor, Silvan and Avari…”

Amroth kept his lonely vigil for many more years.

* * *

 

“Ion nin, come within. It is cold and blustery today, please,” Amdir pleaded. He knew his son’s stubbornness and was not surprised in the least when he refused. A hollow had been worn in the turf where Amroth sat keeping vigil century after century. The cliffs have started to crumble such that only a few hand spans of rock and sod stood between his outstretched boot and the sheer drop to the sea.

A storm was brewing. It had been a storm which had torn him away from Middle Earth and his beloved. He had experienced many from his cliff top perch throughout his vigil. Soon the wind would whip the waves until it seemed a million snowy sails blossomed beneath. Amdir tugged at his son’s sleeve.

They saw it then, a snowy-white sail. Not on the waves but on the wind-battered grasses of the cliff-tops.  It was the white stole of an elleth sent billowing by the winds of a coming storm. Amroth’s heart skipped a beat as she approached. Their eyes met.

“N-Nimrodel…” his voice was hoarse with emotion.

“My lord, my love… Amroth,” the elleth allowed her stole to be seized from her and blown into the darkening sky. They had not met for an age and more but the heart does not lie.

“I’ve waited for you…”

“I’ve searched for you…”

The couple ran into each other’s arms. Amdir blinked away tears of joy at the couple’s passionate reunion before urging them back to the house before the rain overtook them.

* * *

 

“I have been released from the Gardens of Lorien a sennight ago into my family’s care, when I heard about your waiting, I would not wait for word to be sent forth. I had to find you…” Nimrodel explained as she daintily sipped at her tea.

The rain had overtaken them after all and now Amroth’s naneth fussed over the three. Fresh cloths were provided and towels. Hot tea, wine and a blazing fire to chase the chill from their hroa. A chamber was prepared for their son’s beloved.

“I wanted so much to return to you…”

“And I wanted to sail after you… Alas, I tarried too long by the river. I do not understand it but when I awoke from my reverie the world had changed so much I can barely recognize it,” Nimrodel trembled and Amroth put a reassuring arm about her shoulders and pulled her close.

“I came to the shore but there were no ships. I found only ruins. I waited a long while for any Elf to come but none did. I tried to make my way to Lorien but the paths and trees had changed too much. I could no longer hear or speak to the birds and trees. I was so scared I had fallen under some foul enchantment…”

“Shush, you are safe now…” Amroth kissed her on the brow.

“I met _him_ in the woods,” Nimrodel said in a quiet voice. Amroth froze. He had heard the dark tale of Eol and Aredhel and how it was still used to warn young ellith against wandering the woods alone.

“He was a wise old elf who lived in the woods near the shore, a minstrel who had not sailed. He told me two Ages and more had passed since you were lost to the sea and the last of the Swan-ships sailed. He also spoke of elves who had hidden themselves away from Man, for I had awoken in an Age where Elves were not always looked on kindly. We travelled together for a while as father and daughter.”

“These hidden woodland elves were not always friendly to us and I found them too different from my kin. Some days I felt like throwing myself into a river to drown my despair but he always stopped me. He always looked out for me. I do not understand how his songs were always enough to urge me to continue and lift my spirits. Whenever we were by the western sea we would look west for any Elf-ship to take me to Aman. There never were. Many cycles of the sun we roamed both mountain and shore until I left for Mandos’ Halls.” She paused to squeeze his hand.

“It was an accident no doubt. We were gathering wood deep in the woods when a Mannish hunting party after a deer crossed our path one bitter winter. A stray arrow found my heart. I was sorry I had to leave him behind… He always seemed so sad and lonely.”

“This minstrel… was his name Daeron?” Sindar lore claimed their legendary bard still wandered the Hither Lands after betraying his lady’s trust.

“Nay, I think not. He spoke Quenya like a native tongue and favoured the songs in that tongue above all others,” his Nimrodel frowned. “Now that you speak of it, he never told me his true name… He called himself the Minstrel. I have been in the Halls too long… I fear I should know the minstrel but I cannot… ”

Amroth nodded and offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar and the Kinslayer who was still doomed to wander Middle Earth. If that ellon should ever be allowed to return to Valinor, he would thank him in person.

“You are safe now, my love…” Amroth whispered. He held his beloved closer, noting that his parents had retreated outside the parlour and were shutting the door for their privacy. They had lost so much time but now they were both in Aman. Henceforth there will only be endless days and nights of joy and bliss for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is interesting that until the start of the Fourth Age, Cirdan was still sending ships out from the Havens. Yet Nimrodel seemed to have missed the memo. This would be possible if she a) ended up really lost and wandered about for an Age without encountering any other Elves, Dwarf or Edain, b) that little nap she took turned out to the centuries-long sleep of Rip van Winkle and she wakes up well after everyone has gone from the Havens. Given that Maedhros spent several years hanging off a cliff without sustenance, it might be possible for an elf to enter some state of deep hibernation under the correct conditions.


	12. Brother of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Findekano reflects on his memories of a brother in all but name. Russandol-Findekano angst.

Findekano beamed when he saw the ripe red fruit overhead. The plum tree was laden with juicy fruit just begging to be plucked. It did not take long for the elf to clamber up the trunk and into the branches. The Noldo lacked the natural grace of Nandor and Silvans in the trees but he was a healthy strong ner. He was camping out in the wilds of Aman for the first time since he was re-embodied after almost an Age in Mandos. It had taken forever to reassure his mother he was ready to explore the wilds of Aman. Anaire agreed on the condition that his younger brother and cousins accompanied him. Arakano’s horse went lame a day out of Tirion and he was forced to turn back. Findarato stopped in their travels to spend a time discussing poetry with a Vanyar bard they met in the foothills of Taniquetil. Findekano believed his name was Elemmire, one of his wife Amarie’s many cousins. Between their music and news of Findarato’s elflings, the pair could still be there chatting at the tavern when Arda is unmade. 

The last companion to part ways with him was Glorfindel, after Findekano unthinkingly insulted his peredhil wards. He still thought the peredhil twins Elladan and Elrohir were ill-bred upstarts, as well as their elfling sister, especially after he fell afoul of one of their many juvenile pranks at the last banquet at Turukano’s. It had taken forever to get the gloopy mess of corn-starch and feathers out of his hair and best robes. Elrond and Celebrian had apologised but everyone knew the couple doted on little Elmire, who took so much after her elder sister. The little iell was a bad influence on her older brothers and their parents too weak-willed to discipline them. Glorfindel had galloped off in the direction of Tulkas’ Hall, where he practised his wrestling and sparring regularly. Findekano thought it wise to let the blond captain’s temper cool before approaching him again.

The prince was alone in his journey now but he had no fear. No harm would befall him in Aman. In fact, he relished the quiet without Arakano whining about being away from the pretty nis he was courting in the city. Findarato’s singing, although brilliant, did get on his nerves after hearing of his rescue of Maedhros for the thousandth time. Glorfindel took himself too seriously as always. He rode as if they were headed to battle instead of on a leisure trip. His obsessive attention to detail when grooming their horses was annoying. _Why would one need to brush out the tail of one’s steed a thousand times at night before turning in?_

 _Free. He was truly free._ Findekano laughed joyously into the sky overhead, alarming the eagles enough for one to swoop down and ask if all was well.

“Sorry if I alarmed you. It’s just that it is so good to be able to breathe freely again away from my duties and family.”

* * *

 

He had been guarded in his emotions when he was first freed from the Halls with his brother and father, beset by uncertainties. They had been weak at first. It had taken time to get used to having a body again. His amil had fussed over them endlessly, urging them to eat, bundling them up in warm clothes and keeping them in bed. _Was it any wonder they say Nolofinwe was a lot pudgier after his return?_ Anaire and her kin rallied for her sons and husband to resume their courtly posts and titles without delay. The council convened and decided Arafinwe should continue to rule in Tirion, for he had ruled them wisely and fairly for an Age and more. Nolofinwe agreed with them and accepted the post of advisor for himself and captains of the guard for his sons. They retained their titles and rights as princes of the House of Finwe.

Arakano and he never cared much for the courtly rituals and ceremonies. The guardroom and training yard suited them well enough. Despite their amil’s constant urging them to woo suitable maidens among the nobility, Arakano had fallen for a kitchen nis and Findekano never felt any inclination to settle down or have elflings. When his sister was freed from the Halls still wounded in her fea, he had taken on the role of her protector readily and without complaint. It hurt them to see Irisse so timid and wary when she had been so bold before. 

It had been only several cycles of the sun ago that she started to smile once more and venture out of her shell. She had offered to help Lady Celebrian with her new daughter when the baby came. There was talk that her own son might be released from Mandos. Her husband had already been released earlier and a meeting was arranged in the Circle of Doom to decide the fate of their union. Both Nolofinwe and Anaire stood by their daughter, as did her brothers Turukano and Arakano. Findekano had wisely declined to attend as he did not trust himself not to commit a kinslaying. The Valar deemed that the union be annulled and Irisse be free to join with another should she chose to do so. No one contested the decision, not even Eol. The shadow had lifted from Irisse. 

He had returned to the world of the living in the Second Age, soon after the War of Wrath. The Third and Fourth Age passed in Arda before the last shadow which blighted the House of Nolofinwe lifted with annulment of Irisse’s union. For the first time in Ages he was free to wander as he chose in the wilds. _How much had changed since the innocent times when the light of the Trees paved their way._ There were new trees and new flowers.

* * *

 

Plums. Sweet and ripe. They had picked fruit off the trees in those bygone days. Using his tunic, Findekano gathered the fruit until his tunic was full.

“Russandol, catch!” Findekano giddily tossed one plum down towards the ground before he realised what he had done. The fruit splattered on the ground. _Of course, Russandol was not there to catch it._    

_Why do you choose to ride about the wilds alone, cousin? Your parents must worry._

_Why do you, cousin? I am sick of my lessons and having to attend those stuffy dinners… Having to listen to Turukano’s chatter about his studies and…_

_I understand. Come ride with me then, Finno. I will show you some of the best places I found in the wilds of Aman we may hide form our families and duties awhile._

As young neri, they had ridden and camped out under the stars and Telperion’s light. They had climbed the sheer cliffs of the mountains to test their strength and mettle. They had swam in and fished out of the rivers. They picked ripe fruit from the trees and gathered sweet berries from the brambles to eat. They had laughed and joked about campfires. When the fire died down, they would snuggle close in their bed rolls for warmth and whisper of their dreams and ambitions. His cousin had not laughed at him like Turukano did when he spoke of his boyish infatuation with the nis who was Arakano’s nurse. Russandol was the elder brother he wished he had. It was a crying shame their atars were constantly at each other’s throats. In the wilds, they could forget the troubles and tensions back home. 

* * *

 

He had cursed Nelyafinwe in his heart on that long trek over the ice. _How could he leave him behind like that?_ He had been horrified in the aftermath of the First Kinslaying. He refused to believe that the Feanorions had provoked the fighting on the docks. In his mind, Russandol is kind and wise. He would never wilfully hurt, much less kill anyone. He fretted when he learnt his cousin had been captured and that the Feanorions had failed to ransom him or negotiate terms with Morgoth. He had gone forth alone into the alien wilds to sort out his thoughts. He never expected to find Russandol. 

_“You should have killed me…” his cousin muttered softly as he stared at the stump of his wrist. His wounds were horrible to look at although they had started to heal, physically at least._

_“I couldn’t. I am sorry but it was the only way…”_

_“I am no longer the elf I was…”_

_“You are still our king…”_

_“I can no longer be king. I am no longer fit. You don’t know what they did to me… I cannot…” Russandol had been so broken then. He had tried to comfort him but his cousin had screamed for him to go and leave him_ be.

* * *

 

Nelyafinwe Maitimo had changed. There was a brittle hardness in him. He might not lead the Noldor, but he still led his brothers on that mad Oath of their father’s. At his word, they let the Oath sleep. No longer did he smile and his temper was said to be foul, fouler than even quick-tempered Carnistir. They said Carnistir had chosen to move far from his eldest brother so as to avoid clashing with him. Russandol was cool and polite to his cousin. All the warmth was leached out of him. Findekano wanted his cousin back, the elf who had laughed with him under the stars.

The pain from the tortures he had undergone in Angband tormented him, Makalaure confided to Findekano in secret. Trusted healers had to ply him with powders so that he might continue. Findekano had borne unwitting witness to the nightmares which plagued him when the sleeping draughts failed him. As always, he hid it from all but his closest, including Findekano. 

_“NO! No more! Please stop…” Fingon froze at that shriek of pain and terror emitting from his host’s chambers. He had ventured forth to call on his cousins in the east of Beleriand._

_“Shush, Maitimo. You are safe now…” Maglor had his arms around his elder brother, rocking him like an elfling. Russandol lay whimpering against his brother’s chest, clutching at his tunic like a drowning man._

Fingon had tried to visit his cousin after that fateful day but his duties prevented that, even more so when his father perished and he inherited the kingship. It was unseemly for the king to pursue a friendship with a Kinslayer. Yet Fingon still trusted his cousin, enough to offer his aid in that last battle despite the misgivings of his captains and advisors. He had perished on the field then and was summoned to Namo’s halls.

* * *

 

In Vaire’s tapestries, he had watched the Second and Third Kinslayings with horror. _What had become of you, Russandol?_ Then came the twin boys for whom both Maglor and Maedhros cared for. Findekano had hoped his cousin saw sense and had returned with the Host of Valinor to seek the Valar’s forgiveness. Instead his cousin immolated himself by leaping into a fiery chasm rather than give up the Silmaril and his Oath. 

Their paths had not crossed in the Halls of Waiting. He had heard whispers of his fell uncle Feanaro being chained in the deepest cells of Mandos, condemned to remain within for all time. Telvo he did encounter once but the redhead fea fled before he could speak with him. The Feanorions keep to themselves. Many were the fear who would curse them. Findekano had endured a bitter tirade from a young elf-king over his untimely death and those of his young sons at the hands of the Kinslayers. Dior apologised once he realised he had been screaming at the wrong fea. Findekano never saw Nelyafinwe’s fea.

Findekano visited Russandol’s mother and her kin, to see if she had news. Nerdenal never heard news of any of her sons being freed from Mandos.

 _The Halls of Mandos is a place of healing for the fea, more so than the gardens of Lorien,_ Aunt Findis had said. _Sadly not all wounds of the fea can be fully healed._ Findekano had heard her explain to his mother one night after his sister had woken up the household with her nightmares. His law-sister who died on the ice still feared the cold. Elenwe had almost thrown a fit the day Lord Manwe decided to introduce winter and snow in Aman outside his mountains to cater to the woodland elves’ longing for a climate similar to the one they had left behind in Arda. Endless springtime was a bit confusing for their Silvan kin who had been so attuned to the changing seasons. Aegnor and Angrod were wary about flames after having perished by dragon-fire in their first lives. Their houses boasted the closed Feanorion lamps rather than candles or torches for light.

* * *

 

Slowly, Findekano climbed down with his shirt full of plums. It was getting dark and he better start a fire for light and warmth. Nights this far north could get chilly and he did not have Russandol to share his bed roll with. 

For now, Findekano would console himself that his beloved cousin was healing from his wounds in Mandos and one day would be released, hale and whole – the Russandol he knew and loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purely brotherly love between the two cousins.
> 
> This is set well after end of the the Third Age, when Elrond's family has been reunited (save for Arwen who chose the mortal fate). I like the idea of a new addition to the household, not so much to replace the daughter they lost, but as a reaffirmation of Elrond and Celebrian's bond. Elmire - star jewel in Quenya? The family seemed to be fond of the syllable 'El' in their names.


	13. Seeking Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor wanders the shores of Endore and is lost in the mists of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High angst factor. Implied substance abuse. Maglor-fans, get out those tissues.

Perhaps it was fear, perhaps pride. They had been offered a chance to return home by Lord Manwe’s herald, a chance to throw themselves upon the Valar’s mercy and forgo their Oath. Instead they had stolen their father’s creations from the camp and paid for it in their own way. The gems burned them. His last brother threw himself into a fiery chasm, unable to surrender the Silmaril till the end. He had thrown his into the sea for the gem burned his hands. He had wandered alone half-mad with grief along the shores for many years afterwards. 

When he was sane enough, he learned that Elros had taken the path of Man and the Gift of mortality. His foster son had passed where no elf could follow. He wandered into Imladris once, just to see what had become of his other fosterling Elrond. Elrond was an elf-lord, respected and beloved. Maglor knew he could never approach him ever again. Elrond guessed at his presence in the woods. He rode out of his home alone and called out his foster-father’s name. Maglor hid himself in the trees and did not reply. He did not wish to be found. He wandered the shores and later turned his feet inland, singing his laments. 

When his self-imposed solitude became too much, he ventured into the settlements of woodland elves ignorant of his history and sang for them in exchange for food and shelter. He never stayed longer than a few days. He dared not linger long in the west where the remaining Exiles still lived. The lands of the east and south, he explored. There he wandered into the towns and cities of Man when the need arose. He would soon grow to find the Second-born too war-like for his liking and prone to cruelty in their dealings. In the north there was only the empty wilderness with biting winds and the ghosts of his memories. 

 _“The Age of the Elves has ended. Now it will be the Dominion of Man,”_ a blond Silvan elf informed him at the start of the Fourth Age. _“Come with us to the Havens, Lord Cirdan will be sailing west with Lord Elrond’s sons… We could use your golden voice to cheer our way.”_ He left the settlement before dawn without a word of farewell. He did not wish to sail. 

He wandered into Lorien where Artanis once ruled. His cousin's court had long gone. Only the ruins remained. He saw from afar Elrond’s newly-widowed daughter, who had chosen the Gift of Man for love. Grey marked her hair. He quickly left Lorien for he did not wish to see Elrond’s daughter fall prey to the frailty of Man. There were still wood elves that chose not to sail. With these he sought shelter.  

* * *

 

The world was changing. The elven settlements dwindled as the years passed. He now had to earn his crust singing for the Second-born. He took care to hide his pointed ears. The elves who still clung on in the forests hid themselves from all outsiders, whether Man, Dwarf or fellow elves from other settlements. His strange looks gained him a chilly welcome. The elves who remained were diminishing. Many fell from the worship of the Valar. They joined with close kin and their few elflings were born stunted. Often they would waylay unwary youths and maids from Mannish hamlets to hold in thrall in their hidden halls, or kidnap Mannish babies to rear as their own. 

He found an elleth who had missed her chance to sail. She was a fair maid but he had pledged himself to another. A nis with a mile as bright as Laurelin’s light. _Does she wait for him still on the shores of Valinor?_ They made their way to the western sea where he pleaded and begged Ulmo in both Quneya and Sinda to have mercy on the elleth and allow her to enter Aman. No ship appeared on the horizon. The coarse manners of the fallen woodland elves alarmed her. She would live a solitary life with him as father and daughter until that sad day of her death, by a Mannish arrow. Her fea flew freely for Lord Namo’s Halls. 

With his bare hands, he dug her grave under a silver birch out of the frozen earth. The frost and snow burned his skin, but the pain was keener in his heart. It would be centuries before he found another Elven companion. 

The empires and kingdoms of Man rose and fell in an endless tide. He saw great cities crumble and burn. There were great kings, no doubt as great as Elros, but their bloodline would always weaken with the generations as the Numeron kings did. The Greeks, Romans, Byzantines… The gods changed too. He once stood in a great hall of stone in Constantinople and looked up into the face of a red-haired mother and her child, both crowned with stars. _Could she be Varda in a new guise?_   He does not know. The stories have changed too with each retelling. Feanor and Fingolfin’s tale became that of Cain and Abel. Aredhel became the virgin huntress Diana, Artanis became the fey Faery Queen. Dwarf-kind had vanished by the Fifth Age. The Hobbit-folk followed soon after.  

He tried to sail once on a Mannish vessel across the sea. They landed in a new world where the trees and birds were strange but it was not Aman. The Straight Road remained barred against him. For three cycles of the sun and more he sailed across the world, hoping to find his way home. He failed. Under the burning sun of the land called India, He found another elf who had wandered long and far. This elf was also a bard and he recognized him from a banquet a long time past. He had been blinded in a war long past. They clung to each other, two wounded fea. There was no need for names. Together they travelled from shore to shore and sea to sea. Mankind had created fiery beasts of flame and metal which ran on roads of steel. The skies were so filled with smog he lost sight of the moon and stars. They crossed Asia, America and Europe before ending up in a bohemian sector of Paris. There his companion faded.

 _“Sorry, mellon nin, I am weary of Arda and cannot continue…”_  

His friend lay there on his bed motionless. His body became thin and pale. He could see the sheets underneath the elf. Then the stricken elf simply faded away, leaving behind his discarded nightshirt. There was no body to be buried or mourn over. Maglor soon saw that the magic was fading like the elves. The madness returned. He sought solace in a fiery green drink stylish among the poets and artists of that era. The Mannish poets thought him far madder than they.

* * *

 

He was the last elf in the land once known as Middle-Earth. For centuries he has wandered without rest. Now even the few remaining forests are silent, the last Silvan settlements and their inhabitants long faded into lore. The loneliness was all encompassing and soul-crushing. He does not understand why he could not fade. Many a time, he had lain down and waited to fade, to let his fea uncouple from his weary hroa, to no avail. Perhaps this was the judgement of the Valar on him. To be denied the Straight Road, to be denied the ability to fade. The Ages melted into each other at an ever growing pace. He had long given up keeping track. Often he forgets his own name and why he wanders. 

He recalls a bright light which burned his hands. The wounds have healed over time and he can still play his harp, but not as well as before. The soft music of the harp was no longer in demand and he had no audience to hear him play. Somewhere in his travels he lost his harp yet he found he could not care less. 

He would swing wildly between episodes of lucidity and hazy oblivion brought on by drink and myriad drugs. During one lucid episode, he met a young boy in England and told the lad his tale and that of the Elves. The little boy remembered and many years later Maglor would weep over the tales in a public library, and at how much of the wonder and magic had gone. 

Instead of Manwe’s eagles, there were birds of steel. These massive flocks could blot out the sun and rain death and fire on all below. He had been caught by one of those fire once in London, and had the points of his ears seared off by the flying embers ere he could flee into the many cave-like shelters in the city. There were horseless carriages which spat fire, much worse the spears which could slay a man from afar. He read in the papers of a far-off city lain waste by a weapon which not only burned the inhabitants to ash, but tainted the land for generations to come. _He had been there once, with his companion, seeking out any truth that a population of Avari elves still remained in the farthest east, never having made that first westward march and untouched by Morgoth's shadow. They found none._ All around were tall towers which reminded him of Angband’s walls, reaching up into the darkened sky. Better to be mad than the only sane being in a world long gone insane. 

 _Middle Earth is dying._ As an Elf he could feel it although he was a Noldo. The great woods stripped bare, the earth, water and air poisoned. The nations of man fought endless wars with each other using ever more terrible weapons. War, famine, disease ravaged the populace. Maglor has long learnt how to keep hidden and unseen. He wandered the land, waiting for his time to fade, beseeching the Valar to allow him… 

* * *

 

 _He cannot continue._ The ancient elf collapsed amidst the trash washed up by the tide. Hard drinking, drugs have taken their toll on his hroa. Perhaps now he could die or fade. _Will he hear Namo’s call finally?_  

 _“Kanafinwe Makalaure…” Who was that? Him? Were they calling his name and why?_

_“Kano!”_ He thought he should know the female voice calling him.

 _“Ada!”_ A son. He had a son once, no, two… His mind was fuzzy… 

“By the Valar, you have not been easy to find… even after we have begged Ulmo’s aid…” _Quenya._ It was a tongue he had not heard in a long while. Maglor forced his eyes open. Fair faces hovered over him. Strong arms hoisted him up from the sludge. 

“What have you done to yourself, my son?” A red-haired woman sobbed. A glowing white ship bobbed among the refuse of the bay, a ship which had not been seen since the end of the Third Age. "Haste, we must get him back to the Blessed Realm..." a dark-haired elf scowled as he held a sleeve to his face. "The air is most foul here..." 

 _Sorry, Amme…_ He was too far gone. He had spent too long poisoning his hroa. Already he could feel the pull of Mandos on his fea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all the faeries and elves in folklore are nice characters - legends about changelings, mortals being enchanted and spirited away... If these are the same elves, they definitely have fallen. The term 'Good Folk' was used more out of respect or fear they would cause mischief.
> 
> I have dragged Maglor through the centuries into a bleak, apocalyptic modern age. Leaving it open as to the manner in which he finally returns to the Blessed Realm.
> 
> I am ending this series for now.


End file.
